


for a chance to live

by SNES



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: 90's Music, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - High School, Getting Back Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Jeno and Jaehyun are Brothers, M/M, Mental Health Issues, References to Depression, Rock and Roll, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-02-27 02:35:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18730006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SNES/pseuds/SNES
Summary: In the blaring heat of 1999, Lee Jeno and his impetuous high school garage band dream of being rock stars in the near future. The only major setback he has on the long and tricky highway to fame? The president of the poetry and literature club; less known for being hissecretex-boyfriend: Na Jaemin.(or, a 1990s! nomin au)





	1. the waiting scene and the sunday dream

~~~~It had all started with Lee Jeno's first summer of discontent.

His days had been a haze, spent precariously on unhealthy doses of homemade lemonade and sitting on the plastic lawn chair in his backyard while he ponders over having nothing better to do. It was hot and he felt like he would melt down into ashes, but the heat did him dirty. All it did for him was remind him of how boring, repetitive, lame, and a load of bullshit his life was. And of whose fault that is, exactly. ( _See_ : Himself.)

A quarter of the people in his life had come and go, whether important to him or not really, literally or figuratively, and he was floored by the significant change in his life that it started to feel like whiplash. By that time, he was majorly stuck and was still reeling from the anxiety of the impending hustle of junior year— a time when everyone was trying to be something they're _quite_ obviously not. Everyone was trying so much to be the same or something completely different, and no one was trying to live their lives as they should be.

Jeno was stuck between the intersection of this social disaster, but only because he was the only one who still didn't know what to do with his goddamn life.

At least the others were doing something with theirs, no matter how ridiculous they would end up during the process. In Jeno's mind, if life had been an object, everyone he knew was invested in it; hellbent on doing everything to keep making it look like it was presentable, squeaky clean and good as fucking new. Jeno was the only person who took life out of its dusty shelf, played with it a little, grew bored, and then placed it back in like it was nothing to him. Because of this, he feels like he's the in-between, and if not, he was someone who was just completely off the goddamn rails. It only makes sense. He figured he needed to change that.

That was his goal: to do something with his life. He could work on the doughnut shop near the city hall for a change, or start on the mix tape he's been thinking of doing for months now. He could draw his own comic, or shoot his own movie. It didn't have to be grand; it just had to keep things moving.

He could build his own boat, or he could drive on his own to the beach. He could learn a handful of the skateboarding tricks he's wanted to try since freshman year. He could paint his room all black and go out of town to spend his money on some posters to plaster on his wall.

Or — sooner or later he wishes he realized just how much this would matter to him in the present — he could start his own band.

When he thought about it, it wasn't that bad. He knew how to play guitar, knew how to sing _a little._ He had friends from across the neighborhood that would be so fucking down with that, and they had it all set out for them, really, and— oh _, good_ , then he remembers how a little later after that epiphany, he suddenly had lemonade dripping all over his face.

He blamed it then on the spontaneity, on the humid heat of the 1998 summer, on the icy lemonade gunk he splashed across his face instead of his mouth as he sat there on the plastic lawn chair; like it was fated, slightly inadvertent, but also the only wake-up call he needed nonetheless.

Flash forward to 1999, about a year later where he, alongside his long-time best friends Mark and Yukhei, had finally set their lives in action with a tacky garage band of their own. They've been at this for nearly a year and a half now. Mark played drums and Yukhei did bass, while Jeno led the band as the vocalist-guitarist. Their band was some arbitrary juxtaposition of rock through the years, and they seldom play at the local diner on the weekends, even on the elderly home two intersections away from school (they didn't like the music they played). They would often cover songs from all different eras of rock, ranging from Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Talking Heads, and even their own sloppy pastiche of the Beatles. Some people see them walking down the neighborhood streets and immediately decide they're being too ambitious, with their band shirts and their smudgy black eyeliner; some others just settle on calling them the resident gang of misfit children, and that they'll grow out of it sooner or later. They haven't decided on a name yet, but he figures that's for when they're finally famous. If they ever will be.

No. _Of course they will be._

For a short while, this was where his simple life had orbited: His band, rock, practicing for their gigs at Yukhei's garage, lying on his unmade bed after having canned beans for dinner, sweaty black t-shirts tossed on his hamper and washed the next morning for immediate reuse, and his ex-secret lover he sometimes still gets dreams about. He knows that for that short while, early on in the year 1999 (or even hopefully well beyond that) it felt satisfying; something that was more than good enough.

There are nights when he feels content, when he's jumpy and elated, when he looks up at the fluorescent stars in the ceiling of his bedroom while he's trying to fight back his human need for slumber. Nights like that made him think to himself, _dreaming big isn't as bad as I thought it would be, right?_

Then life slaps him red and hard across the face first thing in the morning and goes: _Absolutely wrong._

 

Need he remind himself, over and over again, he's _Lee Jeno,_ and that amounts to more than just a name he could go by. In many ways, it was his true-to-life nightmare.

To put it simply: He lived in a world where everyone tells him he'll never be as good as his brother Jaehyun, because Jaehyun was practically a god in high school; a triple threat of good looks, good grades, good— at just about _anything_ anyone could ever imagine. He couldn't nearly be as perfect because then God would lose His job, and honestly Jeno thinks that's not so bad, because then he didn't have to live up to the insurmountable standard of having a brother whose mere laugh could cure global warming. Jaehyun's graduated high school and is off saving the birds and being the perfect college boy he is in an out-of-town university, but Jeno wonders why his name still shows up in the newspapers like he hadn't left at all.

Safe to say, Jeno didn't want to be perfect. Neither did he want to be Jaehyun or God. He wanted to be his own person, whether or not he could surpass his brother's short-lived high school sweetheart legacy. He wanted to be himself, and he figures it can get worse; the pressure of not being some jocky golden boy like his brother had been and still is could get worse. But then, he ponders, _what if it doesn't? What if that's the worst it can get and he had to live his life forever caged in the shadows?_

That's how he knew he had to do something. He reminds himself that it _didn't have to be grand, just had to keep things moving._ But, if anything, he wanted his plan of action to be as grand as grand can get.

 

 

The ringing of the school bell scarcely taps him back to reality.

It's now Thursday morning in his school, a little past 10:30, and he's walking to the faculty room after his second period English class. He's got a folded paper in his hand, pinned between his fingers when he knocks on the door of the principal's office a little too loud to be called respectful. With a muffled _the fucking door's open_ , he hastily lets himself in. Upon inching the door open, Jeno is immediately bothered by the clutter. The principal peeks up from behind the piles of unorganized paperwork that dominate his desk, a pen dangling from his mouth.

"What's this?" The principal shivers, sending the smallest remnants of a question to Jeno when he walks over to the principal's desk, slamming his hands and the paper on the table.

"Event proposal." He explains briefly. "See, we have this band. We play rock and stuff, Depeche Mode, RHCP... and—  _man_ , you get the gist. What I meant to say is I think it'd be really amazing of you if you'd let us hold gigs in the auditorium every Saturday."

He shivers, anxious. "School-funded?"

"Not necessarily." Jeno speaks. "We've got our own equipment. Maybe newspaper publicity would be good? I think we can pay for that?"

The principal nods and tentatively hums in response. He asks. "Your parents know about this?"

Jeno lies. "Sure they do." _Not that his parents care, anyway._

"And what's the purpose of this whole ordeal?"

"It's uh-" he coughs. "It's to promote— like, um, it's not to reel in the ladies. If that's what you're thinking. It's— for, like— athmospherical and social and ethical... peace?"

"Good." Jeno chokes on his spit. _Did he hear that right?_ "This is just— great. Great, great timing, Lee! You're going to get the kids in this school to live a little! Honestly though, I can't stand walking another second with you brain-dead kids on the hallway."

"Really?" He asks, suddenly unsure. "You trust us with this?"

"Really." The principal says back. "I can't think of any other group of guys in the world who can do a better job at this than you guys."

With the principal's sincere approval and the provision of the auditorium keys, he rejoices. He runs down the halls as a massive _fuck you_ to everyone who's still reeling from their morning coffee, and the only reason he doesn't feel guilty for it now is for the sure fact that he feels like he's finally won something big, like the world is finally giving him recognition for where recognition is due, and like he's in the midst of a life-changing breakthrough and no one would dare to stop him. Now that he has (practically) the whole of his senior year to make it real, he's given the chance and the liberty to prove everyone who thought they were right about him _wrong._

Jeno doesn't wait another second as he teeters on the main door of the auditorium, awfully powered by his need for unfiltered redemption. He fiddles with the key and hastily inserts it into the keyhole, and, upon entering, he dishes out the most restless laugh he's ever dished out in months.

The door's latch lets out a loud click when it closes, the sound echoing throughout the whole room. He runs and stands in the middle of the stage, now a little breathless. He's overwhelmed; eyeing everything and seamlessly imagining a whole crowd full of wandering enthusiasts. And it was the smallest dream back then, but now he was talking big time. By _crowd_ , he meant people who came for him, people who wanted to hear him, people who  _loved_ him.

Jeno's nodding to himself in knowing, realizing that in that moment, he was sure: This was where everything massive starts. This was what he had dreamed of when he was still a fetus in his mother's fucking womb or something; this was what he was sure he was born for.

Except now there had been a problem; Nothing he was unprepared for, _yet_.

This time it wasn't Jaehyun, and thank God for that, but Jeno's lived his life long enough to know that he was never fortunate enough to always have things handed to him so easy. He just didn't expect it to be so _hard_ for him now.

Said _problem_ had been the familiar figure who was now standing still on the entrance of the open auditorium, his mere existence already a full unsettling threat. With all the cells and nerves in his body, Jeno forces himself to look away; because it wasn't just anyone standing right across him in that moment. With only mild hyperbole he dies a little inside having to recall who exactly that person is: It's Na Jaemin, the president of the poetry and literature club and, _dare he say it —_  the same boy he'd been secretly going out with for nearly two years. The same boy who —  _dare he remind himself again —_ was his ex now.

Jeno hasn't even seen him for a whole two months now. Well, that sure as hell made sense. He wouldn't see him if he'd been purposely avoiding him across the halls for those same two months. Seeing his face again was an unwanted trip back through time, and he hates how Jaemin's always been that way to him; disarmingly familiar, much like his first memories of happiness and longing and sadness.

He didn't like talking about it, but he remembers how it was, and although it had him reeling for a second chance he could always say the decision was mutual. He knows neither of them had it easy, what with the typical disposition of having to stay in the closet and pretending like they didn't know each other in the halls for the sake of staying together, for the sake of all the little moments they could sneak with each other that somehow felt good enough. What shook him the most was how easy Jaemin settled with parting ways, almost entirely like he didn't care that they've broken up, that they were over, and maybe that's the only thing about it all that Jeno's still in shambles over. ("It's fine, Jeno. There wasn't any steady attachment." Jaemin had said, but _Christ,_ if that hadn't been the sloppy epitome of all variations of hurt and pain in the whole universe, he didn't know what was.)

The sight of Jaemin hits him like a trainwreck — no, not _just_ like a trainwreck; more like a 10-wheeler, a bulldozer, a cruise ship, an airplane, a submarine, a spaceship, an asteroid, and all the planets in the solar system crashing down on him all at once. He's out of body when he asks Jaemin, "What are you doing here?"

" _Jeno_." Jaemin says then, shyly, quietly, walking over to Jeno on annoyingly wobbly legs.

"Don't say my name like that." He hadn't said it in any way specifically, which brings the both of them to some form of mutual confusion.

"What? I didn't. Even. Okay. Just, please tell me why you're here, and also what's going on..."

"Auditorium's ours." He hisses back. "We'll be playing on Saturdays. Practicing for the rest of the week. Or the month. Or the year, who knows?"

"What,"

"What?" He sneers, his teeth awkwardly baring as he attempts to reestablish his ground. He can't remember the last time his response hadn't been something passive like _okay_ or _cool_ or _oh, man._ It shocks him. "Look, we already asked ahead of time and the principal said we could hold gigs on the auditorium on Saturdays. To hype up the school spirit or whatever."

"He said the exact same thing to me. Like two seconds ago."

"Well you can't just call dibs."

"I didn't even-" he groans. "I wrote a proposal addressed to several members of the faculty to let us hold poetry slam here every Saturday. That's not calling dibs."

"Same thing."

"You're the one calling dibs on here! I barely took a step inside the auditorium and it's like you already want to burn me alive."

"I don't see the harm in that. You're a witchy bitch, do you know that?"

"What the frick is wrong with you." He asks— more like deadpans —point-blank with his eyes narrowed.

"What's wrong with me?" He sneers. "What's wrong with _you?"_

Now Jaemin was completely lost. "What the heck are you even talking about?!"

"I'm talking about you, Jaemin." He says, furiously disengaging. "And how this whole thing is just another disaster waiting to happen. Can you let me have this one thing without me having to go fucking Olympics-mode just to have it? This is my dream. This is my life. And now you're _so suddenly_ in the way of that. Or was getting in our way part of your plan all along?"

"Are you frickin' delusional?! Or are you just too full of yourself?!" He responds through shifting eyes and gritted teeth. Jeno hates it when he does that, the fucker. "You know what? I can't— I'm done."

"Done? Already?"

Jaemin's jaw drops as if out of offense, his brows starting to curl. "You should consider yourself lucky that I'm not dishing out things I've been dying for so long to say-"

" _This place is too small for such a wide ego_ is what you're dying to say. Can you make it any more obvious, Jaemin?" Jeno scoffs snarkily. "You should know you're not as deep and poetic and unpredictable as you think you are."

"Great! Thanks a lot. Now you're shoving words I never said right back in my mouth."

"Fuck! Your mind's an open book to me. You might as well have." He hisses, to which Jaemin mutters back, "Watch your language,"

"I _will_ say fuck because this conversation is over. You can fucking have it your way."

"Why do you have to be so hostile about this?" He asks back in unspoken defeat. "I didn't know you- alright, I didn't know anything... and I come up here expecting to nod it off and go on with my day like a decent person and suddenly you're telling me I'm in the way of your path to... wherever? You think I'd ever wish failure upon you? Do you think I even have the time of day for that? Are you, like, _daffy_ or something-"

_"All set?"_

He hears an unfamiliar voice resounding from across the auditorium, disrupting their impromptu whisper-fighting. As soon as the boy spots Jeno and Jaemin in the middle of the hall, he groans. "Oh, _hell no_."

"Hyuck," he hears Jaemin say, and the first thought that comes across Jeno's head is _who on earth is this guy?_

"Who?" Jeno sneers, suddenly confused.

"As you happen to know, Jeno," Jaemin clears his throat. "Im in charge of the poetry and lit club, and I have friends and acquaintances you don't have to know about."

"I'll be damned." The other guy, _Hyuck_ , seconds his statement. "That, he sure as shit can have."

"Okay, _Britney_." He rolls his eyes in fake ignorance. "I didn't ask you."

"Can I please know what Jesus-birthed disaster is going on in here?" Hyuck groans, but before he continues Jaemin is already in the midst of hooking him by his arms and dragging him away. Hyuck, however, won't budge, and it seems to Jeno that he won't leave unless he gets answers or an even massive misunderstanding; whichever really comes first.

 _"Jeno,"_ now Mark and Yukhei are in the scene, walking close. They don't seem like they're here to back him up, but he can't just shoo them away, either.

"Didn't tell us there was a party here, dude." Yukhei swoons, completely oblivious of the tense air looming through the room.

Mark lingers near Jeno, stepping forward to whack him on the shoulder and to whisper on his ear. "Care to tell us what's going on?"

He deadpans. "They want auditorium rights."

"Okay, and? They can have it, I think-"

"They _can't_ , Mark. That's the damn point." He hisses discreetly. "We can't give them the auditorium. Where the fuck else are we going to play in this goddamn school?!"

"This is so fucking weird." Mark says, peeking over Jeno's shoulder to monitor Jaemin and Hyuck. "Oh, shit, Jaemin." He says, under his breath. "He's walking over." He _is_ walking over, and Jeno can see that. Jaemin looks at him like he's serious, like he's the professional in this situation, and it infuriates Jeno; that and everything that was suddenly in his way. Jaemin draws closer, and he gives Jeno that look, the one that clearly tells Jeno to _please, calm the fuck down._

"Don't make this hard on either of us, Jeno." He huffs sharply, eyes like blades piercing through Jeno's chest. "Look. I mean— really. Don't make this a pissing contest."

"This is a personal attack, Jesus Christ. Why can't you just leave me be?" He asks.

"It should occur to you that I get a say in this, too. Seriously, Jeno. I thought you, of all people, would-"

"Well you don't really know me like that anymore, Jaemin, so you can stop making assumptions about the shit I'm supposed and not supposed to do."

"We can find a way to make ends meet like civilized people, so stop jumping to conclusions because it's not what we fucking need right now!" Jaemin shouts, glowering now.

"Oh, good." He says sarcastically. "And apparently you would know?"

Jaemin's mouth falls wide in wordless bafflement, stupefied.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. _Okay_." Mark whistles incredulously, like he was completely lost. "Hey, Jeno, maybe chill out a little?" Despite being taken aback, he takes the liberty to pull Yukhei and Jeno as far as possible before Jeno's anger gets the best of him, and Jeno knows he can't thank him enough for that.

"This is crazy." He starts when he's sure his voice is out of Jaemin's reach. "This is just fucking crazy."

Yukhei makes a face. "What about this is crazy? Jeno, it's just a misunderstanding. You didn't accidentally sell off your house to some hillbilly or something."

"He's crazy, okay? He's just- he's doing this to spite me."

"What is wrong with you today?" Mark says, laughing a little. "Hey, okay, I'm sure he just wants you to calm down."

"He could have given us an advance warning," he scoffs. "It's pretty fucking ridiculous for him to just show up here, like a damn stranger, telling me he needs this place just as much as we do."

"It's not like he had any idea we were going to use the auditorium until now." Mark says, and Jeno cuts him a very not-subtle outraged look.  "I mean, look at him. He's _trying_. He must know what he's doing."

"He doesn't know shit from shinola, Mark. He's just making our lives worse."

"Dude! It's not a big deal." Yukhei barks. "You're so tense. Not like a bunch of poet sissies can outshine us." It was true and sort of not true because in Jeno's fucked-up state of mind they did have the capacity to do so. At least, Jaemin did. Jaemin would outshine Jeno in all aspects of his life, kind of like some sunny intervention, and Jeno was far too in love with him to stop that from happening, too caught up on the fact that he was dating a literal angel to ever actually do anything. Except that was then and this was now, and _now_ was wanting to hurl at Jaemin and jabbing him straight across his perfect little face.

He lets his mind travel out of the scene for a while, just so he could regain his calm. It doesn't work, because as much as he tries not to, he fails and starts to overhear the conversation between Jaemin and Hyuck blaring on the other side of the stage.

 _"Who does he think he is?"_ Hyuck sneers, and if Jeno wasn't trying to relax, he would have already kicked him straight in the groin.

"We just have to think this through. Or adjust with the situation, for now." _Typical Jaemin-esque response_ , Jeno thinks.

"You know, Nana, it's really a pity we have to share the auditorium with that stupid rock band every Saturday, the only schedule we have for poetry slam! I don't see why you have to settle with this. Open your eyes! They're better off in their mom's garage!"

"Okay, Hyuck, that's enough." Jaemin says, and Jeno kind of hates like he's only saying it because **1.)** he feels like it's his responsibility to emphatize, symphatize, or whatever, which is **2.)** absolute shit and **3.)** Jeno wants to break his jaw and punch him 'til he falls on the ground because he's such a little shit; but **4.)** of course, Jeno couldn't, even if he could. The only thing worse than _hating_ Jaemin was _liking_ him, and **5.)** Jeno was, by some unfortunate predicament, still, even after those two months and all of those things he'd just said, head over heels in love with him.

He can't stand himself right now— or, more like he can't stand how he's still furious; trying to connect the dots, trying to fill in the blanks. Fuck, when he thinks about it, he shouldn't have even been here. What was he doing? Why was he being so ridiculous? What was he trying to prove by fighting back when he could just... _go?_

"Jeno-" Jaemin calls for him, but he doesn't want to hear the rest of it. He doesn't care that he's acting like a five year old when he finally bursts out the door, like an imaginary fume of smoke had emitted out of his nose like they would in those cartoons. When he's out of the auditorium and walking to his locker, bumping across a few schoolmates and a handful of unwelcoming stares, he stops in his tracks and thinks. _Now what?_

He looks down at his wristwatch and realizes that it's already past 11, meaning it was already lunchtime. He could go buy a juice box and a pack of Reese's and eat it along with his packed lunch for however long that might take him before he has to spend the whole day out of Jaemin's sight, and maybe he should hide behind the cafeteria while he's at it, but only for good measure.

He does exactly that, anyway.

Hiding wasn't as lonely as he thought it would be, but he figures it's only because he had to settle with this for now. He spots the janitor lighting a cigarette when he moves down to sit on the steps of the cafeteria door that leads to the open field, nodding a little in greeting.

"Got nowhere else to sit, kid?" The janitor sneezes, facing him.

"Yeah. You could say that." He says, attempting to sound passive. He pulls out his paper bag and his saran-wrapped meal of soggy toasted bread, eyeing the janitor and thinking he'd rather have that cigarette for lunch.

The janitor sneers at him, a brow raised. "You don't look like the kind of person who doesn't have any friends."

"With all due respect, _Mr. Janitor._ You don't really know me to decide that."

"I'm just saying,"

"You can go a long way without having to say _anything,_ quite frankly." He sneers, attempting to sound as respectful as possible. "I'm just saying."

Five minutes and four tormentingly slow bites into his meal later, he hears the janitor whistle knowingly, his hand moving up and his finger raised to point at the opposite direction.

"Is that guy your friend?" He asks, and before Jeno even looks, the guy starts laughing and murmuring. "He's looking at you."

Jeno braces himself and turns, and is not even in the least bit surprised that it was Jaemin who was coming over, arms wrapped instinctively around his chest like he was trying to steel himself from something.

"I've been looking all over for you," he starts, wishing Jeno didn't look so underwhelmed.

"Well I haven't been in hiding for more than thirty minutes." He mumbles while shrugging. "You're good."

Jaemin eyes his _Blood Sugar Sex Magik_ shirt, and then looks away like he didn't see it in the first place. "Why are you out here eating with the janitor?"

"Because I'm always out here eating with the janitor." He says, although that had been a lie. "Why're you here? You need anything?"

He purses his lips and flinches up straight, coughing a little before speaking. "Regarding the auditorium mishap-"

"Okay. Stop. Shut it." Jeno facepalms. "You won the game. We'll leave when we leave."

"No, it's not— that. I didn't mean to— I actually. I have a proposal."

"I don't want to hear it."

"Yes. You do." He insists. "You don't even know what I have to say."

"Thanks, really, but no thanks-"

"So I was saying," he mutters through a forced smile, his teeth gritted. "I'm thinking we could team up! It'll kind of be like art appreciation night. I have a friend in the art club who might be able to help with the exhibits and the stage set-ups. And I can ask someone from the newspaper club to put up an announcement on the boards and on the paper. I might be able to get the theater club to perform some short skits on the stage for it, too. You and your band can play for us, right?"

"Uh." He shrugs. "I'm not sure you want us to."

"Of course I do." He says. "I wouldn't be telling Yukhei and Mark, or be running around the whole school to look for you if I didn't."

"You do." Jeno deadpans. "Everyone else doesn't. There's the difference."

"That's why you're playing! Show them what they're missing out on." They're not missing out on anything worthwhile, but _fuck_ , Jeno knows he's right.

"I don't need the weird optimism. It just makes me feel like shit at this point." He lies.

"No it doesn't." He says back instantly, before regaining his composure. "Jeno, please-"

"Can you please stop?" He says. Jaemin looks up at him, his face falling. "I know you're trying to reason out with me. And I know I shouldn't bring one thing into the other. I get it. I'm sorry. Now just please. Leave me alone."

Jaemin squints at him. "Do you really want me to?"

"Honey," he sighs, surprised at himself for the inadvertent use of the slightly offending nickname. "Are you deaf?"

"No, I'm not!" He huffs in his annoyance. "I'm just asking! Do you really want me to?!"

"Yeah." He deadpans, much to Jaemin's stunted shock.  "Yeah. I want you to."

"You are so— motherfucking unfair."

And then he storms out, because, hypocritically speaking, it's not an argument with Jaemin unless he starts bursting through doors and walking out like a very conflicted Disney princess.

"You should have just let him have his way with you." The janitor chimes in, much to Jeno's fury. He's going to have to remind himself never to hide where the janitor is staying ever again.

As if it wasn't damning him enough, Jaemin's last words go through Jeno's mind all afternoon, through Calculus and History class, throughout his hazy lazy jog home, to his porch, to his living room, his bedroom; after he takes a nap and even after he goes to the table to eat dinner and, oddly enough, while he washes the goddamn dishes. His parents don't meddle with his life enough to know the goddamn difference, and if it weren't for the inherent parental instinct, they would have just been completely lost. He hikes up to his room and nearly falls down the steps, and he knows it's because he's too invested in his own thoughts to really separate the fantasy stairs from the reality stairs.

He was lying on his bed now, but his head is elsewhere. The rest of the world is blurred out; volume low, on mute. He's in the back of the cafeteria with Jaemin, a little past lunchtime, and he's thinking of _you are so motherfucking unfair._ It's not like any other thing that he can just forget about the next morning; this kept him roped in, like something engraved in him, like a tattoo. Except this was alive inside of him. And it makes sense because it was Jaemin. Jaemin always knew how to make words feel like they were alive.

He didn't know which was more of a problem: the fact that Jaemin was right or the fact that it was Jaemin specifically, or both, and he thinks, _fuck it._ It's weird how he's suddenly not even angry. He's momentarily on the brink of a mindless overdrive, thinking of all the things he could say back that isn't _sorry_ or _you're just as unfair as I am_. He might as well do something about this now. And he means, _right now._

He surges up from his bed, pulls on a sweatshirt and some flip-flops and then shames himself for the decision he's making and the bullshit he's about to do, but from that point on, stopping himself wasn't really an option.

He tiptoes through the stairs, careful not to make a sound even as he walks through the kitchen to grab his spare house keys and to the main door in their living room. He only stops when he hears an alarming voice call for him.

"Jeno? Where are you going?" His mom had asked, to which he shrugged incredulously, his feet now halfway out their main door.

"Getting some chocolate. I guess?" He replies, but by that time his mother's attention had been diverted back to the recent episode of South Park, their cartoonishly annoying laughs rolling on the living room television. These moments rarely ever go his way, so he tries to make the most of it and runs out the street as soon as his mother can even recall asking him that question.

 

Half of his nightly trysts had been all about cycling his way to Jaemin's neighborhood, so it's no surprise that he's practically memorized the way to Jaemin's house. He's been there countless of times, nearly countless enough to remember all the areas in their living room where the sunburned paint had worn off, or all the clothes in Jaemin's closet he'd worn when he and Jeno would hang out and _smooch_ a little on Jaemin's creaky twin-sized bed.

He hikes up to Jaemin's porch, the breeze blowing through his hair and his shirt, and now he dreads having to knock. Before his knuckles even come into contact with the door, it swishes open, revealing Jaemin inside, his eyes blown; like he knew Jeno was out there waiting for him. They say _oh_ at the same time, and then blush a little when it sinks in.

Jeno misses seeing Jaemin with his guard down like this. He's wearing striped waistband pajamas and an orange hoodie; the same hoodie he wore when Jeno had confessed to him behind the chain link fence on the field during last last year's football game.

"Hey," he starts, his hand flying back to scratch his own nape. "You busy?"

"Uh, no- I- mom and I are just. You know, _South Park_ replay on the family channel."

"Yeah." He sighs, knowing full well about Jaemin's uninhibited fictional crush on Stanley fucking Marsh. "I know."

"Jeno? What's-" he says, scratching his eyes in confusion.

"I feel like- I mean, I should- I need to tell you something."

"Oh." He mumbles back. "Do you- are you- cold? _Cold._ Are you cold?"

"No." He says. "Maybe a little."

"I should fetch you a jacket-"

"No. It's fine. That's not what I came here for."

"Oh." Jaemin mutters. "Not like I thought you came all the way here for a jacket, if that's what you're thinking."

He groans. "Oh my ding dang _gosh_. We're at this again."

"I'm- sorry. I'm going to stop talking and let you- uh, do your thing." He coughs. "That good?"

He nods, all of a sudden at a loss for words. He scavenges through his mind for the speech he'd mentally prepared a whole three hours ago, but now, naturally, it's nowhere to be found, apparently. He reminds himself, _this just happens_. And when Jaemin looks back at him like he knew Jeno just lost a fucking braincell in the midst of their conversation, he huffs and speaks up again.

"You know what, Jeno? I'm actually really sorry. I'm just... cranky. I guess? This is just- _wow_ , seeing you again. It's making me feel things." Jeno instantly understands what he's talking about, because frankly, he could say the same shit for himself. Jaemin yawns a little, holding it back. Then, he asks. "What's so important it couldn't wait 'til morning?"

 _I couldn't wait until morning to see you again_ , his mind duly supplies, except he's supposed to be angry at Jaemin and he couldn't just say that with Jaemin's mom peeking at them from the living room. _"Guh,"_ he makes a sound, shrugging. Jaemin laughs a little at this.

"What's wrong?" Jaemin asks, his hand flying up, tentatively reaching out 'til he realizes he's not supposed to be doing that. The gesture leaves both of them frozen, reeling, until Jeno decides to cut to the chase and just fuck up his way through this.

"What you said to me earlier on the back of the cafeteria- you're right." He starts. "I should be a little open-minded about things, and yes. _Yeah._ Art appreciation night. That'd be- really really amazing."

He grins and snickers unsurely. "Huh?"

"I'm going to take your word on it and play with the band next Saturday. I mean, only if the offer's still being negotiated."

Jaemin stares back at him, dumbfounded, like maybe he had a hard time believing Jeno would run to his house in the dead of night just to say those things. "I'm— that's great! I'm so glad you're being considerate now."

"Yeah. I am being considerate."

"That's what I said." He shrugs, blood rushing through his reddening cheeks. "Thanks for telling me as soon as you made up your mind. Like, really, way too soon."

"No, really it's just... your mind. It amuses me sometimes? I don't know how you come up with these ideas. Like, _art appreciation_ and poetry and stuff. Kind of mind-blowing, if you ask me."

"You don't have to say that to flatter me-"

"It's not mere flattery!" He sighs forcefully. "Maybe it is, in a way, but, I don't- I really do think those things about you. So it's not just to get you to feel good about yourself. It's also because I genuinely believe you should... feel good about yourself. You get me?"

"...That's what flattery means, Jeno."

_"Oh."_

He nods, looks away, then looks back at Jaemin again. They teeter there for a while. Jaemin avoids his gaze and resorts to picking on the loose threads on his hoodie, a blush creeping through his cheeks. Jeno looks down at his fingers and feels his stomach flutter like crazy. Jaemin shrugs it off, and if Jeno was being particularly expectant, maybe hopeful, he was sure he heard Jaemin chuckle a little.

"Is something funny?" Jeno asks, feeling queasy when Jaemin grins at him like he found this adorable.

He shakes his head, eyes growing bright. "It's just really nice to talk to you again."

"I'm sorry." He says. "If it still feels... weird."

"Weird, _but_ nice."

"Yeah?" He responds, still confused.

"Don't worry about it." Jaemin grins, teeth showing. "That's water under the bridge now." That _bridge_ being something he'd still freely jump over just to get back to the water. Jeno shakes his head. _That's not what Jaemin was implying._

"Then... I guess I'll... see you tomorrow? At school?" Jaemin squeaks sheepishly, his fingers now tapping excessively on the door's hinge.

"Yeah, sure. Tomorrow." Jeno says, moving backwards 'til his feet balance off the edge of the curb. "Good night?"

"Yep. Good night." He smiles at Jeno before he closes the door, giving Jeno a final glance before he disappears back into their living room. Jeno dwindles on their doorstep for a short while, still fleeting, a breathy chuckle passing through his lips. He's stuck in his own thoughts.

Maybe he feels invincible tonight for a reason. He didn't need to name it to know what it was; didn't need to have an explanation to know that it was important.

He sprints back home in glee, running down the slopes and the sidewalks and shouting and fist-punching the air, chasing time and feeling so ecstatic that he, disgusting as it might be, starts to get the urge to kneel down and kiss the sweet, sweet gravel. There's no reason to rejoice, no reason to feel victorious, but _God_ , the things Jaemin makes him feel.

He tells Mark and Yukhei about it as soon as he can, dropping by Mark's house way past his bedtime just to share the news and calling Yukhei's family landline as soon as he gets home. He's being giddy over two specific things when he plops down on his unmade bed; those two things being Jaemin, and the way he says _it's just really nice to talk to you again._ Never mind that he's reading too much into it, because for once in his life, he doesn't feel like he's Lee Jeno, better known around town as 'The Resident Letdown'. For once in his life, he wasn't dragging himself down every time he breathed. For once in his life, he was Lee Jeno, the one who Jaemin thinks was really nice to talk to again.

That was, _undoubtedly_ , the best feeling in the world.

He makes a mental list of the things he has to do first thing in the morning; he should tell his parents some time before he leaves for school, because it really wouldn't kill him to, whether or not they would forget about it the next day. Next, he should talk to Yukhei and Mark about the details of their Saturday performance, like costumes, the songs they should sing, how they should sing it, and everything else he might have missed out on.  And then, probably the most critical aspect of his mapped-out routine, talk to Jaemin.

When he thinks about it, he doesn't really know what he wants from Jaemin, or what it was he had to achieve. But he also couldn't just say he was doing things for the heck of it; he wouldn't be losing his mind over the thought of it if he did. He just wanted to _talk,_ but at the same time he was also itching for something more than that.

He didn't want to micro-aggravate his way back to Jaemin's life. What he ought to do was to think of a decent topic, but then he realizes he really didn't need to. He had the thing about the art appreciation night to start off with, and he can't be more thankful for the concept of that, knowing it was going to make the situation with Jaemin less harder for him.

Even when he teeters between the intersection of sleep and wake, it seemed easy enough to do.

 

In many ways, he knows he's doing this whole thing for Jaemin, and he means the _whole_ thing; although he's a little lost and isn't quite sure why. One thing he does know is that this art event means so much more for Jaemin, and he doesn't know why that could be- maybe because it was Jaemin's idea, or maybe because it was something Jeno wanted to give to him, or maybe because he deserves something like this more.

When his mind is at the peak of its restlessness and his eyes are starting to fall, he thinks to himself: _Yeah. That must be it._

Jaemin just needs something like this more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. firstly, im pretty sure it's still weirdly taboo to upload mature content of nomin, but even though the smut in this isnt until the final chapter, im just going to go on ahead and add a warning in advance. i get that it makes some people uncomfortable so if that seems to be the case i advise that you dont read the final chapter or you just dont read this at all?? hopefully that makes sense. if smut is right up your alley then no worries
> 
> 2\. there is a [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLf7Ze1pJW2ZNaxLy78QJzZU7wT1BARsGD) for this fic, mostly music from the 90's. if a mood-setter is what you're looking for then look no more!!
> 
> 3\. kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. i'd more than love to know what you thought about this so far. yeah im highkey desperate but it keeps me going lmao
> 
> 4\. find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/RETROJENS) and [cc](https://curiouscat.me/R3TR0S). enjoy the fic!!


	2. you blow a fuse, zing, boom

Jeno is gay; and he knows this, and he states it for the fact that it is. It's like saying water keeps you hydrated or lotion keeps your skin moist. Like saying... Sputnik launched in October of 1957. Neil Armstrong is the first man to land on the moon... _Jeno is gay._ But he doesn't follow up with a _deal with it_ right after.

It's the only time he ever thought: _fuck the heavens for universal truths._

How he'd come to terms with that realization was something out of the picture, but only if that picture was anything but his fourth grade John Elway poster, and how that had become the source of many of his sleepless nights until he learned that being gay and liking men was actually a thing that existed.

Pretty early on in his life he'd learned that he wasn't really like all the other kids. It was horrible, even infuriating, at first; even though now he realizes it's always been the same. He was used to thinking that he was gay, therefore highlighting the inherence that he was defective, and no one sees it because no one else that he knows is gay like him. He's the one who can't be normal when everyone around him was free to live out their own delusions. He fooled himself by thinking that in the very least, he was sure of who he was, but really, he's stupid and indecisive and he didn't know a single thing.

He can only hope the future gay generations would have it easy, or at least they could have their shit sorted out for them. In all honesty, he thinks, what would anyone actually expect from someone who's had to learn shit about his sexuality over sneaky runs through the hidden gay romance sections in the bookstore and shoplifting DVDs of _Philadelphia_ and _Maurice_? Nothing but a gay, confused disaster. He likes to think he's doing a great job at hiding, anyway, but also hates to think the only reason no one bats an eye on his slip-ups is because no one really cares.

Fortunately, Jeno was and has always been a very rigid person, and since realizing this, he's not easily swayed by the promise of change. He didn't know about dating men until —  _God_ , now he had to remember him again — fuck everything he's ever said because he knows he's going to start not making sense. He thinks of Jaemin once and suddenly he loses his mind, all his capacity to think straight. Suddenly all he can think of is being driven into madness, or being shoved face-first down on cold water. He puts it in a way that it's like consensual mind control, and he doesn't know how that could be, or if such a thing even exists, or exactly why he'd be so down to let Jaemin reduce him to it anyway.

He hates himself for letting Jaemin have that effect on him. Now it's hard having to see him as something more than what he actually is: a human being. And yet he always comes off as such a surreal entity that it would be wrong for Jeno not to see him as one. He's being dumb for thinking like this, but when it's Jaemin he's thinking about, how could he ever stand in his own way?

They weren't polar opposites, per se. But maybe they were and that could honestly be a good thing. For one, Jaemin liked Björk and The Platters and Simon and Garfunkel. He calls himself _Venus as a boy,_ because Björk has a song with that name. He liked watching the sun rise from the window of his tree house while he wrote poems about saving the whales and the flowers and their neighbor's dying dog. As far as Jeno knows, his favorite poem is Henry Derozio's _A Walk by Moonlight_ , and he enjoys scribbling little excerpts of it on the back of his notebook when he's not paying attention in class; even on some days in Jeno's bedroom, writing them with a blue ball-point pen near Jeno's scapula, with Doris Day's _Again_ playing softly in the radio way back when they were still together.

He didn't like The Kinks or Neutral Milk Hotel much like Jeno did. Jeno likes the sunset and the moon and running in the rain, because he feels like he's the kind of boy who's made to belong there. Jeno, more or less, spends his weekends in a daze, suntanning in the plastic lawn chair, listening to his neighbors' bickering and writing cheesy songs about Jaemin in his old notebook, reminiscing a love that could never be, although that sounds a bit melodramatic and cheesy. His favorite poem is one that Jaemin shared with him eight months ago: Charles Bukowski's _Fingernails; Nostrils; Shoelaces_ , although he isn't quite sure why. He just likes how it sounds when Jaemin recites it, likes how _it's not so much that nothing means anything but more that it keeps meaning nothing_ rolls off of Jaemin's tongue. Now that he thinks about it, that was quite frankly the only reason he ever really liked that poem. (Again, _blah blah blah,_ fuck Jaemin.)

Jaemin dresses like he knew his way through clothing, but also like he was perpetually stuck in a loop of bad sixth grade choices. Jeno picks his outfits in the middle of his closet, before he gets too dressy but after his _I'm really comfortable around you_ clothes.

The scars on Jeno's hands are numerous; gashes and gashes of tapered skin on his knuckles from fights he wasn't supposed to have. He wasn't a rebellious kid, but God knows he'd be an idiot if he didn't know how to fight back and defend himself. But then—  _then—_  came the deeper scars; the ones he had a hard time talking about, still, not even when he's out of his mind, beer can after beer can; he didn't like seeing them, didn't like reminding himself that at some point, he was vulnerable enough to think this would matter, when now it was just one of those _things_ he'd look at just to remind himself of how much of an idiot he was. It doesn't stand to reason, because when he's in the moment all he can think of is doing it, and when he's out of that trance, all he can think of is why he wasn't able to stop himself sooner.

Jaemin had a scar of his own, a single one on his left wrist; a horizontal slit, etched perfectly by the blade of a box-cutter like some physical reminder of all the neglect in his life, which, if Jeno was being honest, wasn't really a lot. It was from the first time he's ever had his heart broken by a man. Jeno can't remember who, but he's pretty sure he's shared a handful of classes with that man at some point in sophomore year. Makes a lot of sense- that man was one of their teachers. ("That's the last time I'll ever hurt myself," Jaemin had said, and upon remembering that Jeno wonders if Jaemin ever thought of doing it again, or if he made the same promise to himself again the day they broke up. He wonders if he's ever important enough to be the last person Jaemin would ever hurt himself to. He wonders if he's even worth a final promise.)

He figures it's like some glitchy, static contrast, but there were some rare instances where having less shared interests gave people a lot more to talk and bond about. There were several moments he felt kind of lucky to meet Jaemin, because some people don't just click on the first day; gaze to longing gaze, the brush of their hands a spark not quite massive to burn, but strong enough to leave a mark. For some inevitable reason, he and Jaemin just did, and _thankful_ couldn't even begin to describe how much that meant to him.

It's weird because he knew Jaemin wouldn't leave him. It was just that he feared that Jaemin would want to, at some point in time when he learns that the world is big and vast and there's more to it than just his fear and Jeno conveniently being there when needed. He was afraid if he hadn't ended it all, Jaemin would just come running to his doorstep one day in abrupt realization and tell Jeno he wanted it over; that he wanted something else, something more. That's one thing Jeno isn't: _something more._

Even in the midst of his self-induced confusion, the one thing he knows he won't do is disappoint Jaemin with their performance, no matter how much he seems like he actually hates Jaemin to cover up the fact that it was worlds away from the real case. It's the only way he can prove to Jaemin that he's not someone who will give him even an ounce of suffering; not if he was given the chance, not if it doesn't come at anyone's expense, not if he was forced to, or if he wanted to, or if he was dying to.

Not even if it's the last thing he'll do.

 

It's 01:54 on an overcast Sunday afternoon and he's fueled by his now pent-up frustration. They've been practicing in the Wong's garage for nearly four hours now, but they're not really getting anywhere. They've got their songs set out and their motivation at an all-time high, except he might be the only one who's thinking or feeling that way. At first it felt like they were just rusty from the days-old worth of all rest and no practice, but by 12:30 it started to feel like something was really, really wrong; so methodically unfixable, unrelenting and consistent that it somehow felt like sabotage.

He groans in annoyance every single time they have to repeat the song from the first strain, not because it's wearing him out but because he fucking knows someone is dragging the tempo on purpose. The telltale sound of Mark's repeated streak of disgruntled noises gives him the smallest hunch of who that person could possibly be. When he attempts to reorient himself, he sighs, counting to three before he strums the first chord. He doesn't get very far, again, because now, _again_ , Mark lost track of the tempo, and Jeno sneers at his audacity to laugh that shit off like they haven't been starting/restarting their asses off twelve-hundred ways since Sunday morning. When he realizes this, he grows engulfed by his overdue annoyance.

That's when he loses it.

"Mark," he groans, pausing mid-strum. "If you don't fucking catch up I'm going to slam your head against the fucking drum set."

Mark heaves back, squinting at him. "Give me a break. My hands are practically dragging themselves to function at this point."

"Well if you haven't been fucking up first thing since morning, we would have gotten somewhere, right?"

"Wow, Jeno. Sorry we aren't blessed with god-sent, superhuman endurance like you are, pal." Mark retorts.

"Dude, come the fuck on!"

"If I say we're taking a break," he huffs, threateningly pointing his drum stick at Jeno's general direction. "We're taking a break."

"Mark's right." Yukhei chimes in between them. "It's been a long afternoon. We've done good enough."

"We have to be better than good enough on Saturday." He says.

"Saturday isn't until a whole five days from now." Mark says.

"That doesn't mean it's okay for us to do nothing."

"Dude, don't get so worked up. There's nothing to prove when Jaehyun _isn't_ even going to be there." Yukhei mutters a little cluelessly, and Jeno can't blame him for that. He thinks it's out of context, but he's focused on something that doesn't make him feel good at all. Amongst it all Mark laughs before he tells himself not to, and Jeno's too worked up to ignore his actions any longer.

He hisses, his hands forming fists, his knuckles tightening. "Seriously? You think that's funny?"

"I'm laughing so it must be."

"You're really going to go that far."

"Yeah, I'm going that far."

He groans. _"Too far."_

"Do you want to punch my face now?" Mark taunts. "Or do I have to go put my Jaehyun mask on to rile you?"

He huffs, running for Mark. "You're. Fucking. Unbelievable."

"You best believe me now, asshole." He says, taunting Jeno just as he runs towards him, his fist flying up.

"Okay. Stop this." Yukhei shudders, sticking his arm out to separate them before they start jamming their knees together. "Stop this!"

"You're doing this on fucking purpose."

"Dude." Mark's jaw gapes. "Yikes, dude."

"Yikes? That's all you have to say?! _Yikes?!_ " Jeno hisses, glaring at Mark. "Do you even know what's at stake right now? Mark— I'd rip my teeth out for a laugh if you fucking want me to. But not fucking now when we've got this whole fucking gig ahead of us and you're acting like some dumb village idiot banging on a drum set-"

 _"What!?"_ He states, dead serious. Rage suddenly looms upon them like a crowd during a fist fight, shouting at them to _keep screaming, keep going._

"Holy shit, calm down— a-and I mean the both of you!" Yukhei intrudes, sounding like a lost puppy that it almost made Jeno feel sorry. "Look. I'm going to go fetch us some lemonade. To cool off and shit. I don't want to come back here and see Mark's fist down your throat or the other way around, okay? Jesus Christ." He huffs in relief when Jeno backs away more calmly, his arms flailing down.

"Listen here, Jeno." Mark says when Yukhei finally walks back into his house, out of the scene. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"My problem?!" He shouts back. "My problem is that you're not taking this shit seriously. This is the biggest, wildest opportunity we've ever had all year— or our whole lives, really, and you act like you're such a damn loss when all you are is fucking brain damage."

"God, Jeno— stop acting like you're not just in it so you can impress your boyfriend who thinks he's- Shakespeare's fucking firstborn or whatever."

"This is not— _what the fuck_ , Mark?" He hisses. "For fuck's sake, you're going to play in front of a crowd _off tempo,_ and I refuse to believe there's anyone in the world who's dumb enough to do that unless they wanted to look ridiculous. If that so happens to be the case then you should have just signed yourself up for a clown act."

"At this point, I honestly think that's better."

"Then go fucking do that!"

"Yeah, well fuck. I don't think you need a fucking village idiot banging on a drum set, anyway." He groans. "You know what? This isn't even an us thing anymore. You think I'd tell you you sound like fucking Barney when you sing on the top of your lungs with your throat so worn out like that? No! Because, to be fucking honest I don't think I'm even allowed to anymore."

He runs his hands through his hair, gripped tight in his rage. "I don't fucking get what you're saying."

"This whole thing is starting to be about you now."

"You're making zero sense," he huffs out.

"Zero sense, my fucking ass. Go fuck yourself, nimrod!" He hisses."This is _our_ band, Jeno. Everything we've worked so hard for is being invested here. It's cliché but we're obviously in this together and you... you make it seem like you're the only one risking something worthwhile for this. I could go to fucking law school next year but I won't be going, because I'd rather be stuck in some dusty, tacky garage banging on a set of drums than living the life I should be- and do you even understand that?" He didn't, but now it's so clear it feels like he's being punched hard across his face with the truth before he could even fight back.  

"Mark— dude—"

"This isn't your fucking one-way ticket out of Jaehyunville, or your genius plot to win some pretty boy's heart. God _fucking_ damn it! This isn't something you can throw away!"

" _It isn't, Mark._ " He says, slowly coming down from his fit of fleeting anger. "Okay!? I know it isn't!"

"You are so conceited, Jeno. God, you know what?" He snickers tauntingly, eyes rolling. "Fuck this. Fuck that. You make it seem like it is."

He doesn't like where this is going anymore.

What seems to be the problem between Jeno and arguments is that he treats them as if they're something that always has to be won, and when they aren't won, he inevitably does what he would find himself doing in such overwhelming situations: shut down. He disengages through cynicism and sarcasm and passiveness and non-confrontation, because if there was anything worse than losing a fight and handling the supposed fallout, it was knowing that he was wrong, even though he's always been wrong.

"What do you want me to say?" He asks, disgruntled, more than ready to end this now. "Fucking tell me."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't just set up this band to prove something to everyone who's ever shit on you, because it's getting hard to believe you ever even wanted this in the first place."

"Mark-"

"Do you want this?"

"I do, Mark."

"Well, it's neither here nor there if you're only doing this for yourself." He scoffs. "Because this is just what this is, right? We're pawns in your dumb big game to drag some chicken shit on everyone who was wrong about you."

"Mark," he pleads. "You know- yeah, Yukhei's right. We need to chill. Dude. I'm sorry, I just... let's just— meet and continue practicing Wednesday afternoon? That good?"

"So now you're being passive." He rolls his eyes. "Get that _fucking_ attitude out of here."

"Fine." He says, kneeling down to place his guitar inside its case as he fumes, doing the most he can to exterminate his anger with actions, but not so much that he might punch the wall in the process. "Then I'm leaving."

"What," Mark howls. "You're leaving?"

"Not like you're going to chase after me,"

"Well, good thing you know, dick."

 _No shit,_ he mouths, and on his way out of the garage he flips his middle finger up for everyone in his vicinity to see. He hears a gasp from across the street, from the old lady watering her square garden and her tomatoes and her withered roses. He doesn't even care anymore, because at the back of his mind he knows that it's just what they —  _yes_ , all of them — fucking deserved.

He power-walks through the neighborhood, lightning bolts of guilt and shame and anger trailing after him like he was the highest building in the entire state. He hears a small bell ringing and stops in his tracks when he sees a bicycle pull over in front of him, with the boy, _Hyuck_ , peering at him with eyebrows raised in worry.

"You okay?" He asks, tilting his head at Jeno.

"Obviously not."

" _Obviously."_ He repeats. "Cheer up, man. Like, I _obviously_ don't enjoy your presence, but I _obviously_ hate seeing people sad. So maybe put a smile on your face 'cause _obviously,_ your frown's ruining my day." Jeno bares his teeth and grins wide and forced at that, like a kid getting asked to smile for a picture. "There you go, good." Hyuck says, "I'll see you and your ugly smile around, maybe." And then Jeno laughs again, real this time. This meant something cathartic, even something akin to relief in some ways, because Hyuck's not even his friend; just someone he knows. Hyuck gives him a calming smile right before he pedals off in his bike again. Jeno's not feeling very great or exceptional, but now he feels maybe just a tiny bit better.

He counts all the footsteps it takes to get back home, kicking on the pebbles in the sidewalk;  it's the best thing to do when the neighborhood suddenly starts to feel so foreign. He hears the familiar car ad resound through the radio in their neighbor's front lawn when he walks up to their front gate, sort of like some fitting background music to his walk of engulfing misery.

He then comes home to the news of Jaehyun coming back to visit for the next weekend and suddenly his mood plummets again.

He tells himself over and over that the anger, the fury, the rage can wait. It can wait until his anger over other less petty things would start to die down. But apparently it couldn't, because the second he's in the seclusion of his bedroom he throws a fit, grabbing his pen holder from the corner of his desk and pitching it all across the room, the pens flying everywhere. No, _fuck_. He should be glad his brother's coming home, except he hates that Jaehyun still had to. Coming home had been some unspoken title-holder for _slapping Jaehyun's never-ending streak of achievements all across his younger brother's face,_ and it got worse as his college life stretched farther.

He sleeps through the rest of the afternoon, only going down to fetch himself a glass of water and some Twinkies from the fridge before going back up to his room and basking in his own self-induced grief. Nirvana blares through his stereo while he eats what's left of his stash, and all throughout the night he thinks of going to see Jaemin, but later on he thinks against it when he realizes things aren't like they were back then and he can't just show up on Jaemin's doorstep like he's actually allowed to be there. (News flash, he isn't.)

By dawn on Monday, the house was all Jaehyun, Jaehyun, _Jaehyun_ , and he's still torn on whether or not he should care about it anymore. The afternoon was spent on decorating the house with Jaehyun's nostalgic fucking leftovers; like his old letter jacket, his O.D.B. mix tapes and his musky lavender frat-vomit scent. Over dinner they have roast beef and onion rings; standards in the perfect Jaehyun meal, and it hurts Jeno how everyone could go around and fill the house with scattered memories of his brother, who wasn't even there to see any of it yet. He didn't have the wherewithal to comprehend it right now. The realization of this is going to hit him much, much later.

Tuesday; 7:26 in the morning and all he can think of is wanting to throw up, or popping in what's left of his goddamn Prozac and _then_ throwing that up. In the back of his mind, where it's dark and bleary and abyssal and out of his control, he knows he's thinking of killing himself.

What he ought to do was flush his thoughts out, because they were heavy in his mind but they weren't really something he can name. He felt like absolute shit, like his stomach was hollowed and his innards were scooped out and placed right back in without a care. He's used to it. This was fucking routine at this point; he mostly didn't know when they were going to come or when they were going to end. But it's fine, he tells himself, that's how bullshit like this _works._

Safe to say, he still didn't want to talk about it. He'd rather think he sometimes wakes up feeling like this for a reason than thinking there wasn't, because the thought of that; pretending he knew what was going on in his head, even in the least bit made him feel a little okay about waking up and feeling like some part of him is missing. He slept in for the whole day, sweaty and lonely and bombarded with weightless thoughts, but he's mostly worry-free. Not that anyone really even bothered to check in on him, anyway.

In his subconscious, he dreams of twenty-three year old Jeno, driving up the wrong side of town, buying himself a tacky gun and dwindling in the backseat of his run-down car, chugging down some Vodka straight from the bottle while he reads all the letters dream-Jaemin sent to him; letters with words like _please don't die, believe in yourself, it's going to be better, your band is going to be okay_. "It's not." Dream-Jeno replies, as if the letter was going to talk back to him any second. It was destiny's call, really, because dream-Jeno's got his new gun pointed right at his head now, locked and loaded, his fingers firm on the trigger as he reads the last smudgy lines of Jaemin's last letter: _I love you. Jeno. I still love you._

He doesn't shoot himself, but he figures if he didn't wake up right before he did, he still might have.

No matter how jarring it is, no matter how much he hated it and no matter how many people tell him he just has to live with it until he dies with it, he _still_ had to wake up the next morning.

He felt like it was never going to come, but soon enough _beloved_  Wednesday came. His walk of shame to school had been a blur in his mind, and so was the rest of his morning. The inside of the auditorium is crowded and gloomy at the same time, with Mark _and_ Yukhei nowhere to be found.

He figures he's dumb if he did expect them to show up after that heated argument in the Wong's garage, but he's dumb like that because of course he would expect them to. He isn't even livid, not in the least bit, but only because he's stuck thinking about the things Mark said the last time they met.

He's walking and walking, his guitar loosely hanging off of him, and he can't seem to find Jaemin anywhere; he knows that must mean something. Jaemin was the kind of person you'd spot first in a crowd full of people, after all, he was deemed Venus as a boy. Losing sight of him even in the darkness of the night sky would be impossible.

He walks around the auditorium, slightly losing any hope of finding Jaemin from anywhere near him. Quite frankly he didn't know what the hell in the world he was still doing in that auditorium. Every single time he tries to say something in that established, entitled hellhole, they shut him out, like it was their own secretly communicated method of reminding Jeno to _back the fuck off_. He's never crossed the mighty border of his comfort zone as much as he has in those three days of staying in the auditorium with all the label-induced, superfluous and exaggeratedly melodramatic pieces of dog shit who call themselves _artists_ in a way that makes Jeno feel like he isn't. It feels hellish. Understandable; fucking understandable. What he didn't understand, though, is why he was fucking invisible to these people, or why they demand him to have an opinion when they don't even care about what he has to say.

The point still stands; these people _know_ who he is, for sure. What's bad about it is that they act like they don't.

He hears a chirpy voice from the opposite side of the stage, ringing like a signal in his ears. All of a sudden, he washes back to his steady shore of relief.

No, that wasn't Jaemin, but he thinks to himself: _At least, now there's Hyuck._ He's standing across him, talking to another boy who's wearing a bonnet and an apron with scattered clots of paint all over it.

"Hey!" Jeno shouts as he saunters his way over, and then scratches his nape when he realizes how awkward he must've been. It didn't matter as much now. "Uh. You, Hyuck. You know where Jaemin is?"

"Why, dearest, I certainly haven't seen the damsel of distress anywhere around." He speaks in a mock-posh accent. "Dare I ask your intent in questioning his whereabouts? Are you going to rescue him from the depths of his hellish despair?"

"I- uh. I don't- _God,_ that sounds pressuring."

"...Nana's probably outside." Hyuck pauses, laughs and shrugs and points to the auditorium's exit door in the span of four seconds. "He needs all that fresh air and shit."

Jeno nods back at him as a way of thanks, just right before he walks down the metal steps of the stage and out through the door in search for Jaemin.

 _Fresh air_ he did not get, because as soon as Jeno spots him in their school's parking lot, he notices the gloomy cloud of stress looming over Jaemin as he sat there on the trunk of some random dude's pick-up truck. He walks his way there, his guitar still daintily hanging off from him by its strap, and then he calls for Jaemin casually. Jaemin flinches up and gazes at him, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

"Shouldn't you be in there?" They ask each other at the same time. At this, they stare mindlessly at one another before laughing it off.

"I should, but I still have to revise the skit's script and help set up the flyers and everything." Jaemin answers first.

"The flyers? Renjun can handle those just fine." He says, then gulps.

Jaemin shrugs. "And you?"

He hoists himself up the trunk and sits down before speaking again. "Just thought I should serenade you on such a fine afternoon."

"Oh." He chuckles snarkily, blushing. _"Really?"_

"Not really." He shakes his head. "I uh... I lost my band."

Jaemin double-takes. _"What now?"_

"They're not playing on Saturday. Or. I guess they are? Just, them without me or me without them now. I guess."

"That's awful."

"I don't want to talk about it." He says.

"I think we do need to talk about it." Jeno rolls his eyes at this, feeling like Jaemin's just going to treat this like another one of his clean-up projects.

"What is there to talk about?" He asks with hostility. Jaemin grins at him.

"There are plenty of things to start off with."

"Okay," he promptly sighs. "Then do it. Talk."

"Well, for one, I know you think all of the people in there are a bunch of a-holes." Jaemin starts, tone hesitant. "And, like. I guess you're right, but the fact that I hang out with those people on a constant basis means I'm just as low on your peer list as they are."

"Come on. You're not." He says, coughing before he ends up admitting something that'll end up with him in a state of existential dread. "You don't talk like you're stuck in the 1800's or something."

"Oh. Oh God." He winces, face scrunching up.

"No, I mean it's totally fine. If you're feeling sorry then that's okay."

"This isn't sympathy." He says, fingers on his hair while he grieves. "It's more like second-hand embarassment."

"That doesn't really bother me." He comments. "It's just- _ah,_ screw their asses sometimes."

"Why? Why? Why?" Jaemin tilts his head from left to right with every 'why' in succession, which Jeno honestly finds adorable.

"I just feel like they don't think we're competent, you know? Look, they can paint. They can write. They can go all emotionally driven by the weather and something. And what do I do? I just scream through a damn mic, and I'm not even _that_ good when I do it."

"They're idiots. Sometimes." He says, irked out. "Thinking there's ever such a thing as competition or superiority in art. They don't even know you."

"They do. The town's pretty small. They've probably been around since I was like, five."

"Not really. They don't know you." He says.  "Not like I have."

Jaemin meant a different kind of _knowing_ , but it was knowing all the same. He wants to kiss Jaemin for saying so, and he nearly tumbles back on his own feet when he realizes he can't. That wasn't a thing he was allowed to do anymore. He teeters in the quiet, strumming lightly on the strings of his guitar as if he hadn't heard anything.

Jaemin notices this and reiterates, gulping a little. "They're giving you a bad time is all I'm saying."

"Come on, what are you even worried about? I lost my band and that's giving me a bad time. My whole life is a bad time. That never stopped me."

Jaemin doesn't respond anymore. Instead, he looks down, his breath hitching. That wasn't a look of anger on Jaemin's face- it was more like anxiety, but Jeno isn't the one who's supposed to put a name on it. It was an anguishing sight to see, and it weighs him down more than it should, so he figures the least he could do was to do something and act on it.

"Man," Jeno whistles, trying to think of anything to say. "Smell that... _air_."

Jaemin snickers at this a little, still not facing Jeno. "I'm still worried."

"How about I make it up to you before I leave?" Jeno asks. "Any requests? You want me to jump off a cliff, drink sewer water, or, like, suck my own dick?"

Jaemin hums and looks up, lips quirking into a small smile. "Sing me a song?"

"Well." He says. "Okay."

He runs his thumb through the strings of his guitar experimentally, heaving before speaking again. "You know Elvis?"

"Of course I know Elvis." Jaemin sulks, huffing and pouting. "What the fuck even is that question?"

"Um, _yeesh_ _..._ so here I go..." Jeno gulps. He sits up slightly, strumming out the first chords to Elvis Presley's _Love Me Tender,_ clearing his throat in preparation.

**_"Love me tender, love me sweet_ **

**_Never let me go_ **

**_You have made my life complete_ **

**_And I love you so."_ **

Jaemin sways his head a little sheepishly, completely enamored by Jeno's mellow voice. Admittedly, Jeno was nervous, especially when he knew Jaemin's eyes were practically hammered on him all while he sang along. It was always like that, and his nervousness around Jaemin just got worse with time and certain, specific circumstances (e.g. their breakup).

**_"Love me tender, love me true_ **

**_All my dreams fulfill_ **

**_For my darling I love you_ **

**_And I always will."_ **

For a moment, he thinks Jaemin might have sniffled a little, letting out a hush choked sound, his throat constricting, but Jeno shrugs it off. He doesn't pay any attention to it. But not until it happens again.

He doesn't dare himself to look at Jaemin now, hyper-conscious of what he might see, or what he might feel once he does see it. There's an ache in his heart now, tightening around his chest inexplicably, and he doesn't get it; why this was happening. He was just sitting down, singing a song, supposedly enjoying himself, but now he feels like screaming and jamming his head on the trunk; all the bad things, all the things Jaemin wasn't supposed to make him feel.

**_"Love me tender, love me long_ **

**_Take me to your heart_ **

**_For it's there that I belong_ **

**_And will never part."_ **

By that point, Jaemin had started flinching a little. Jeno tentatively looks up, his voice hitching when he sees that Jaemin's hands are on his face, tears threatening to fall from his eyes for no reason, but when he notices Jeno's gaze he smiles it off, no matter how red the rims of his eyes were starting to get. Jaemin looks like he's holding something back, like he's wracked up, _pained;_ but of course Jaemin would laugh it off like he always would.

Jeno hates that, and he wants to say he hates that, but he looks down and doesn't stop singing.

**_"Love me tender, love me dear_ **

**_Tell me you are mine_ **

**_I'll be yours through all the years_ **

**_'Til the end of time-"_ **

_"Fuck."_

He pauses in alarm, shaking now. He starts to abruptly shake himself out of the tune, his attention now fully on Jaemin who, instead of trying to hold the tears back had now suddenly been full-on sobbing, tears streaming down his reddening cheeks, his body and his lips trembling like he's buried six-foot deep in a pile of snow, minutes away from being dead.

"Why are you-" Jeno quakes, his hands now frozen still. "Did I say something..?"

"I'm alright, Jeno, don't worry." Jaemin stutters out mid-wailing, the crack in his voice the most painful thing Jeno's ever heard in his whole life. "This is just— it happens."

 _"It happens?"_ He shivers close, leaning in with his arms open so he could wrap Jaemin in a tight, reassuring hug, which was, to be quite honest, the only thing he could offer. Instead, it makes Jaemin infuriated, if the fact that he'd been forcefully pacing away from Jeno's hold right after was any damn indication. Jeno didn't want to think it, but the sharpness in Jaemin's eyes when he stares back meant that he was practically pushing Jeno away.

"Stop." Jaemin seethes. "Fucking _stop."_

He freezes, his hands lingering near. "Stop?"

"Yeah, Jeno. Stop. Don't repeat everything I say like you have a hard time believing I'm not stupid for shit."

"Jaemin." He repeats. "You're _crying_. Do you want me to just sit around here and do nothing?"

"Jeno, _don't_." Jaemin presses his lips tight-shut, and Jeno isn't sure if he should take it for what it is or if it's a sign of vulnerabilty. "People are around," he says with all the hurt there is in the world. And all Jeno can think of is how loaded with bullshit that was.

"Who cares?" He asks back, suddenly fuming. "What's wrong with two _boys_ hugging?"

Jaemin backs away even further, his face falling.

"A lot of things."

His shoulders slunk when he hears Jaemin say it, and his mind goes blank at the realization, at the reeling vacancy.

"It's just a hug." He fights back weakly. "You- what are you so afraid of? You're _Jaemin_." All of a sudden, Jaemin scoffs and Jeno realizes how wrong he was with wording that.

"Jeno, look, there you go again." He mumbles. "I'm not this _thing_. I don't walk around the school with butterflies trailing after me all while I smell like unicorn piss and shit. I'm not your manic-pixie dream boy, because that's not me and that's not what I am. You always focus on the good things about me, and when I show the slightest bit of indifference, you just— malfunction like this. I can't help that I'm scared, you know? Because there are milestones in my life I want to achieve before someone starts whacking me in the face with their _no-to-homo_ picket signs. _Jesus Christ_ , Jeno. Do you know what you're doing? To me? God damn it! Do you even know what you're doing with your life!?"

Jaemin stands up and gives him that look; that _this-means-something_ look. He's reminded of the bigger picture, of how the candidness of a mere hug could cost him a quarter of everything he's ever worked so hard for to hide. It sets his heart aglow with malaise, then it hits him why it matters, like a bullet, maybe two, aimed straight to his head. The look Jaemin is giving him was a reminder of this. _When is a hug ever just a hug? When is something ever just what it is? It's always, always, something more than that._

"I should go." Jaemin says, shuffling in discomfort. "Thanks. Maybe."

"Jaemin," he calls for him again, one last time before the latter turns away. And just like that Jaemin was walking back, gone. Out of sight, but definitely, completely not out of mind.

 _I should go. Thanks. Maybe._ strangely wafts through the air like oxygen he can't breathe in. He suddenly feels out of touch, lightheaded, inebriated, sort of like shit, like he'd just been inhaling air through a straw. _I should go. Thanks. Maybe._ meant that Jeno wasn't something to look forward to, or even something to look back to. The way it feels like he's ruined something when he's barely even done anything; it's there. And now, _now_ , he hates himself again.

Right then, he feels like the world was singling him out. He's imagining himself in the middle of a dimly lit interrogation room, undergoing a Q&A session that would make or break or bring to light the areas of his life that were still blurry to him. He pays attention to the things he has to say about himself, the things that were supposed to define him, all the things about himself that he dreads having to recall or accept.

His name is Jeno. He never means to blame himself for everything. Likewise, he thinks a little differently about the concepts of humanity, of love and friendship and affection. He's second-born in a family who thinks they've somehow birthed both a god and a big mistake. He plays guitar and sings in his band of three, and they're close to having the biggest breakthrough they've had in the whole span of their so-called careers. At the same time, he's back on track with a boy he might love, a boy he's fallen into a weird oscillation of being mutually in and out of touch with, and _yes_ , being gay was strangely the cherry on top of his disgusting, already melting ice cream. It's supposed to be an essential, non-disastrous sequence of recovery, of picking the pieces up, but of course he should have seen something coming.

These things were supposed to make him brave, or give him strength, or do him better, or whatever it was they were supposed to do that wasn't _this,_ but when he thinks about it he grows terrified of himself.

He thinks of Jaemin walking back, to the hiding area in the backstage or the bathroom stalls or back to his house, to his room, or anywhere he can hide just so no one will have to see him cry over Jeno, and how he knows he can't do anything about him right now, no matter how much he wants to. _Give him space._ He tells himself. _Give him space to what? To suffocate? What if he needs space, and Jeno gives him that, but he can't give him that? What if he just stays still? Would he still ruin anything if he just didn't move? Was it bad that he knew he still would? Was he bad for Jaemin? Was he bad for the world? Was it bad that he knew he was?_

He can't come to terms with anything on his mind, and he can't stay thinking because he feels like he'll go crazy, and he can't cry, because he'll try to and he's going to feel bad because nothing's going to come out. Nothing's going to work. He'll feel bad for not doing anything when he's not supposed to be doing anything. And he can't tell himself things that he's told himself a million times before just to shut down again, and suddenly he realizes that this is it. No waste, no surprise.

This is how he knows that despite everything, it's still _him_.

He's still the one who manages to fuck it all up.


	3. possibly maybe, probably love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here to leave a warning for some intense making out on this chapter, although i think that should hardly be addressed lmao. here's 14k of jeno's resolution. i hope you all enjoy and stick around. just one more chapter to go :^) ♡♡

On the morning before the event, Jeno realizes that he's still got practically everything in his life in complete shambles.

He's got nothing prepared; no clean clothes, no scripts for apologies, no plans for any back-up acts. He doesn't even have his band to play with him later, and now he's waking up to the scent of pancakes and bacon; which he knows isn't necessarily a good thing.

There's muffled laughter coming from downstairs, probably from the dining table. His family's never been this hyperactive since Jaehyun's last return. Now, that was just some dawning indication, and he didn't want to think about it, but now he's hearing footsteps on the stairs and a knock on his door and suddenly he wants to hibernate his way through the whole weekend.

" _Bro_ , you up?" He hears a voice outside his room that makes him immediately think: _No. Never for you_. "Pancakes downstairs. I'll save you a batch. Love you." Now he feels bad for ignoring Jaehyun. He always hated how he had been so uncharacteristically nice, when all forms and influences of evil had been thrown his way and he could easily pitch it right back with a charming smile on his face like it was easy. On the other hand, Jeno says yes to anything but is still let down or a let-down.

He groans against the pillow and forces himself to sit up, his hair sticking out in ten different directions when he leaves his room and walks down the stairs in only his plain shirt and his boxers. He can settle all his teenage inferiority all he wants later. For now, he wants pancakes and bacon and feeling like he could be worth the celebration, even if that celebration was by no means prepared for him.

"Morning, bro." He hears Jaehyun say. He lingers on the last foot of the stairs and thinks of going back up again, but instead he shrugs and says _good morning_ back.

He walks over to the dining table slowly, crouching down on the seat duly reserved for him. His mom plops a whole platter of pancakes in front of him and slaps a slob of butter on it like she was Mary Poppins, butterflies and birds chirping all over her as if she'll break out into a song number any minute. The sun outside shines awfully bright, the rays of sunlight piercing through the window and hitting the angles of Jaehyun's face almost disgustingly perfect. His parents are all-smiles, and Jeno doesn't think he's heard them laugh so much. (He didn't know whether to laugh or cry or be angry at the thought of that.)

"Mornin', son." His dad greets him from across the table, peeking through his newspaper. "Nothing like spending the morning with the family and some pancakes and bacon, right?"

"Uh, yeah." He nods dismissively. "Pancakes and Jaehyun. _Yum_."

"Aw," Jaehyun hums from beside him. "You missed me."

"Did not." He says.

"Did too."

He stabs his pancakes with a fork. "Lay off, college boy."

"You sure you didn't miss your big bro? Not even a little?" _Not even by half the size of your 2-inch dick_ , he thinks. "Because I sure did, Jen. I missed playing in the backyard with our cute little _dino_ plushies, and you sleeping next to me back when we were little boy scouts camping out the woods-"

"Really?" He raises his brow. "Talk to me like I'm a nine year old again and I'm going to pitch your ass back to the east coast."

"Yep." He nods a little. "Still as feisty as I remember."

"Hush, now." His dad heaves, flipping his newspaper, his eyes on Jeno. "You coming to watch the football game later with us?"

"What?" He sneers in disbelief. "Dad. _No._ "

"Why not?" His dad asks back, because of course they didn't know. Jeno doesn't even know why he's surprised that they've forgotten. It's like his eighth grade science fair project all over again.

"We have art appreciation night later. You know, the reason I've been staying after hours at school in the past week?"

"Why'd you join?" His father asks, judgingly.

 _"Because it's a nice change of pace, dad. Is it unfitting? Is it a waste of time? Well, maybe. Am I having fun though? I am. So if you have anything bad to say about me joining the goddamn art event, just don't fucking bother..."_ is what he wanted to say. In the real world, he ends up saying nothing; just staring down on his plate like it's going to devour him out of the jarring situation.

"Art appreciation night? At school?" Jaehyun butts in, his voice raised in interest. "Well that's new."

"Yeah. It's kind of like." He pauses, dreading having to explain anything to his brother. "A thing. Now."

"Your band is playing?"

"I guess." He shrugs. "I hope so."

"Sorry we can't make time for this, Jeno." His mom says in her fake-apologetic tone. "Jaehyun's leaving Sunday night. I'm sure you understand." He nods his head to that, like he had to understand the circumstances by default. It was fine; he never expected them to come anyway. Well, maybe it hurt, but just a little—

"No, I want to watch Jeno later." Cue Jaehyun's heroic act of the day. "I'm sure we've got time to kill before the game-"

"But it's been so long since we've last bonded, dear." His mom says back, quick. "College is straining. We're just worried you're forgetting to let loose a little."

"I'm doing fine. I just want to support my little brother. I mean, it's a whole event— this whole big thing! I can't let that slip by, can I?"

His dad coughs demeaningly, in strict assertion. "I don't want to be having this conversation with you now, Jaehyun. I'm sure Jeno knows not to feel emotional over-"

"Yeah. Mom and dad are right." Jeno says — more like interferes — in a conversation he suddenly isn't a part of anymore. "Just go."

"Jeno," Jaehyun eyes him with pity. "Dude. Come on."

"Don't _dude_ me." He hisses.

"Don't you want us to go and cheer you on-"

"I'm going to judo chop your eardrums. Did you hear me? Just go to the fucking football game, Jaehyun." He says, standing up from his seat, his meal unfinished. "I'm sure that's something worth your precious time."

Leaving a tense air looming over the rest of his family, he clambers through the stairs and locks himself back in his room, all but wishing he never left in the first place. The only reason he knows no one is going to knock on his bedroom door to ask how he's doing is because his parents are preoccupied with Jaehyun, who is also direly, expectedly, preoccupied with himself.

 _This is just great,_ he ponders sarcastically, as if some hired sitcom narrator would reply back with something like: _No shit, dude._ He can stay here for the rest of the morning, with quite possibly the only company he will ever find himself settling for and having for the rest of his miserable life. He spends most of his time in his room rifling through his dusty old bookshelves in search for his childhood comic books, knowing he didn't need to leave the house until the clock striked 5p.m. Around this time, he comes across an old letter from Jaemin, written on a very flowery set of stationery paper, pinned between pages 51 and 52 of one of his mom's old pocketbooks that Jaemin used to read when he came over; the opening and closing words to his outdated letter being _I love being here with you, more than anything._ Jeno, without fail, always gets so high on wanting to believe that. Not that he ever actually did with a brain like his own.

By Saturday afternoon, the town has been sufficiently informed of their school gathering. For all he knows it could be massive enough to make it to the front page of the newspapers; something his father would wake up the next day to read about while he's drinking his coffee on the table, seconds close to spitting it out. There's even word on the street about an out-of-town group of kids thinking of coming in to be part of the crowd for the night. He learns about all of this around 4p.m., when he finally leaves the house to jumpstart on his hike to school, and it jazzes him. He's suddenly a little motivated, but then he remembers he doesn't even have his band to play with later, if they could even ever call themselves a band after what happened last Sunday.

What they'd initially planned on wearing were black suits; that's at least _one_ thing he prepared. He had his old suit dry-cleaned and pressed way ahead of time, and on the way to school he's supposed to pick it up. He knows it's the one thing he could manage to accomplish in the midst of being overly cynical; the one thing he can do without feeling like he's going to handle some uncalled bullshit when he's on the way. The weird guy tending the cashier wishes him luck when he learns about Jeno playing, although Jeno really doesn't know what he could possibly be needing luck for, especially now that he knew he probably won't even be performing. Instead of wearing a clean polo under his blazer, he just opts to wear a white printed undershirt instead, trying his best to look like he's not trying his best. So far it seemed like it was working.

 

When he reaches their school by the skin of his goddamn teeth, he's greeted by an utter _disaster_ , if that could even begin to describe it.

His jaw gapes, because this was shitty, was totally and utterly uncalled for, and was most definitely the last thing he could need after all the other loads of shit he still has to deal with. The hallway that's planned to serve as a walk-in gallery for the visitors is a fucking dumpster diver's wet dream, just as it was before any decorative alterations. Everything is on the floor, all the now-crumpled wave runners, all the paintings that suddenly have holes in them and all the flyers that are torn in half, and it enrages him how someone could just _destroy_ all of that effort without any sort of empathy. The hall was nothing short of an irrevocable catastrophe, with everyone who had enough of an ounce of responsibility in them to come in early just to witness all of their hardwork trashed like this on the near damn brink of a massive freak out. Even worse, he's not so sure there's even any ready-made solution for this, or if they'll find it fast enough to let it go underway.

He looks down at his watch and his eyes blow wide at the realization that they've only got thirty minutes before they have to start letting visitors in. He nearly regurgitates, and he throws his head back in anxiety. All while he thinks that God must be having a hell of a fun time fucking his shit up.

"Jeno, _Jeno_." He shoots up when he hears Jaemin call for him in wavering distress, running towards him from the other side of the hall, his tone weary. "Oh my God, Jeno-"

He turns around and his arms fly open out of reflex. "What the fuck happened?!"

"I don't know who trashed it." He whimpers, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. "Probably some bullies or some jocks or— I think the guys in the wrestling team. Yeah, shit. That makes sense. Do you know that they call us art fags? Do you know that, Jeno? They fucking _planned_ this. Do they fucking know how to give their toxic shit-for-brains mindsets a goddamn rest for just this once? For just one fucking night in my fucking restless life-"

"Shh, Jaemin." Jeno doesn't want to hear the rest of it. He'd rather focus on helping Jaemin out, and his first plan of action was to engulf the latter in a tight, slightly comforting, slightly platonic and slightly not-so-platonic hug. Just like the old times, except back then they actually worked and now they just felt sort of off-putting.

"I should have seen this coming," Jaemin starts speaking mid-awkward hugging, wiggling himself away but not too much to hurt Jeno's feelings. Jeno notices this and lets his arms fall reluctantly so Jaemin can pull back and reorient himself. He seems shaken, out-of-body, in a sense.

"Well, you didn't. None of us did. We just— like, have to. Uh. Deal with the fall-out before we run out of time."

"There is no time to run out of. God damn. We've got, like, twenty minutes. What the hell are we supposed to do with that?!"

"Calm down! It's not your fault." He says to Jaemin, who finds the audacity to scoff back at him like he's too restless to play Mr. Good Guy.

"It is too. This wouldn't have happened. It was so, _so_ avoidable."

"Well, we can't fix shit if all we're doing is crying over it."

It wasn't Jeno who said that, and he flinches a little when he sees Hyuck, and Renjun, who'd been speaking; all of a sudden peering from behind Jaemin, his voice raised a little higher in assertion.

"O- _fucking_ -kay, Junnie, you seem to know what the hell you're doing." Jaemin says, breath hitching in his argument. Jeno's too wide-eyed to catch up on the sarcasm. "So think of what we can do for the next twenty-ish minutes, Junnie. And maybe then you'll realize there's a reason why I'm freaking the fuck out."

Renjun shuts up at that, lips pinched intently in wordless surrender. Jeno scoffs at this, a little disappointed at how both boys in front of him were so quick to waste their damn time; all but raising their hands and holding up a white flag in wordless surrender, practically giving up.

 _"That's it?"_ Hyuck raises a brow, suddenly invigorated. "You're just going to leave the halls looking like the goddamn sheriff brought in a fucking stampede? I don't think so."

“This is devastating.” Jaemin sighs out. “We’re just fucked. I can’t think anymore.”

"Hey. It's not the end of the world." Jeno says, looking at Jaemin now, the both of them realizing that this applies to more than just their current situation. He looks away before he continues, hoping that what he’d been implying would mean something to Jaemin, who'd already averted his gaze before Jeno could even do so. "It may not seem like it, 'cause we're done fucked up. But there's still something we can do."

"...Yeah. Fuck. He's right." Renjun pounces from beside Jaemin, his eyes lighting up with bright hope. "I think there are still some old paintings down the basement. The ones last year's art club made. If we move fast enough we can clean up the halls and plaster them around in less than twenty minutes."

"What are we waiting for, then, _homos?"_ Hyuck beams, shooting up to run for it. Jeno takes this time to place a gentle hand on Jaemin's shoulder, soothing out the tenseness there. Jaemin looks at him, brows furrowed like Jeno had just sucked some negativity out of him, some way or somehow. Jeno mouths out something along the lines of _we've got this_ ; a set of words he doesn't tend to believe, but if he can make someone else believe them, at least for now, then that was good enough.

"Yeah," Jaemin smiles, staring right back at him, easing a little into Jeno's touch. "Let's do this."

With a solid plan ahead of them now, they were off. For a good amount of time, the hallway was all hustle and bustle. Hyuck slides through with a mop and a broom, gliding all around to deal with the clutter while Renjun takes the time to re-plaster the gathered paintings anywhere he can. With each passing minute Jaemin is running all across the halls like a campaign endorser, shouting onto his makeshift megaphone for any reminders or any screams of encouragement he can think of to fuel the busy scene that was rushing and dashing amidst him. Jeno had made his way to assist the art club with carrying the framed canvases from the basements to the halls, and although it ruins and crumples up his suit and going up and down the stairs makes him sweat like crazy, he doesn't find himself minding.

When things start to seem a tad more manageable, he slumps down the basement stairs to take a long breather, not really expecting anyone to bat an eye on him. It’s a tender relief, knowing that anyone who’d been there to see him practically hunched against the crook of the staircase was probably just as exhausted as he is.

He’s on the brink of closing his eyes for a moment, his head drooping slowly until he hears someone mutter something specifically along the lines of "Looking good there, Jen."

"Fuck, what?"

He shifts up in shock, seemingly propelled by the familiar voice. What he sees clears his groggy vision, takes him aback; it's the sight of both Mark and Yukhei, clad in the same black suit get-up while they stare at Jeno with massive, shit-faced grins. This had to be a dream of some sort.

It takes Jeno a millisecond before it dawns on him, and suddenly he's laughing. "Why are you— oh my God, dude. Dudes. I don't-"

"Jaemin called me personally." Mark explains, coughing a little. It's a tacit reconciliation, and Jeno likes it, because it’s obviously better that way. Although he's very sure he'll have to dish out an apology much later, he saves it for now and briefly speculates the innate lightness in their conversations that he hasn't been having and had surely missed out on for a week now.

Jeno chuckles, his joy evident in his voice. "He doesn't even have your home number,"

"Hey, Jeno. See, I'm just as surprised as you are." He laughs. "Let's just say some miraculous phone call was the sudden intervention I didn't really know I needed, and there were certain things in that conversation I would have never realized until he made me. I mean, it's just so weird. He was saying all this shit about you that I couldn't understand at first, until it kind of just made sense. It felt like he knew exactly what he was saying, like he knew he was right. Kind of like... he knows you?"

"Nah, I'm sure he just-" he gulps, trying to think of a way he can cover that suspicion up. "I'm driven like that, like— I seek the opportunity a little more than everyone else. I feel like everyone knows that about me, you know? It's not— he just made a lucky guess about me, probably."

"You're right. I get how that feels." Mark nods at him. "You're not going to hold yourself back when you could easily reach out for something. Maybe I was just too clouded to see this whole thing that way."

"It's not just that, Mark." He says in all sincerity. "You guys are my everything. If I don't make it big without you, I'd rather not make it big at all."

"How saddening. How sweet." Mark swoons, snickering now.

"Is that a tear I see on your face, Jeno?" Yukhei gleams, his voice light in a joking manner, although really, Jeno knows he could be right.

"I don't know. Yeah. Probably," he says, not even flinching, much to Mark's humor. There’s a second of silence where Yukhei forms an O with his mouth and nods slowly in realization.

"Uh, well. Uh. Hey, _bonnet boy._ " Yukhei suddenly says, his face turned to gaze at a smaller boy walking around them with a box of rejected canvases piled up his arms. "Need help carrying that back?"

"His name's not bonnet boy-" Jeno is on the verge of saying, but said boy bites back too quick in retort, his tone intensified by his glare.

"My name's not bonnet boy, _dick._ It's Renjun." He says, with the unfiltered use of dick in that context shaking all three of them unceremoniously. Renjun's shoulders soften before he speaks again. "And you know what? Sure, I could use some extra help."

"Uh. Cool," Yukhei says before slowly pacing back, still facing Mark and Jeno while he trails after the smaller boy. "I'm out. You can cry now. This is too emotional for me. I'll see you guys on the stage!"

They see Yukhei off, waving him away like it was natural, and now all that's left is Jeno and Mark. He's not so sure there's still any strain in their atmosphere to acknowledge, but for the record, he was going to apologize anyway. Mark deserved it greatly, even if he might not think there's something that needs any apologies any longer.

"Mark?" He says, facing Mark now. His right hand flies back to his nape out of reflex, pressed flat there when he huffs. "I'm sorry I acted like a jerk."

Mark looks dumbfounded for a good three seconds, and then he cackles. "Come on. Rockstars are jerks. It's fine."

"That doesn't really count for much." He says, laughing a little awkwardly. "I still pissed you off. That was a very dumb thing for me to do."

"Yeah, more or less." He says. "But if we're going to stay doing and slaying this whole band thing in the long run then we might as well get used to the fighting."

“Nah,” he shrugs. “I’m never going to fuck up that bad ever again.”

“Me neither. And you know what? It’s about time we get over this.” Mark says. "There's just— just one fucking thing I'm still confused about."

Oh, no. He thinks of grinning, of saying _go ahead_ , but one look at Mark tells him he won’t like what’s going to come right after. Not at all. Mark’s never been one to meddle with confusion, so Jeno could only assume that Mark had a shitload of things to say that needed clarifying to some massive, life-threatening extent. He crosses his fingers and nods back at Mark in response, his nervousness thickening, the tension that wasn’t really there suddenly the only thing he could make out in a hall full of people.

“Hey,” Speaking of the devil, Jaemin shows up all of a sudden, his voice alerting Jeno. Mark looks up to see Jaemin peering at them, his hand raised and waving. “What are you guys doing down there? Come look. The hall’s finally set up.”

“We’ll be there in a bit,” Jeno snorts, a smile tugging at his lips reflexively. “Do you have the order of the acts all set out?”

“I do,” Jaemin nods, shuffling around the stacks of paper pinned on his wooden clipboard. “You’re performing last. No pressure, really. I’m just one of the people who ought to watch the best show they’ve seen,”

“No promises.” He shouts out, his face instinctively shifting to catch Jaemin’s gaze when he steps up.

“ _Yes_ promises,” Jaemin says, dwindling out of the scene. “Well, uh. See you around, Jen, Mark. Good luck!”

He’s eschewed himself from letting any uncharacteristic reactions from unexpectedly slipping out, but a grin bursts through his face when Jaemin walks away, and it was too hard to hold himself back. Mark is quick to notice this, barely even sparing a second before he says “So, Jeno. This thing I was asking—“

“Uh, yeah. Yes.” Jeno nods slowly, grimacing. “Go on, man.”

“ _Him_. Jaemin.” Mark spouts out, gaze firm. "...Do you like him?"

Jeno blinks, gulps thickly, his throat hollowing. "Mark, what? God. Mark. _No_. How could you even— like, think that? I don't even, like, think he's cute, or charming, in the least—" he stops talking when he senses Mark seeing right through his crystal-clear facade, and he sighs gravely in his inevitable defeat, pleading: "Please don't tell anyone."

"Oh. Okay. I won't. But I mean— that's sick— like." He gulps, expression softening. "I think I'm more shocked that you like boys than the fact that you like Jaemin _specifically_."

"What?"

"'Cause there are like, boys you learn are gay, and then you'd think—  _oh_ , that makes a lot of sense. Kind of like that Hyuck guy?" Jeno nods and then backtracks, because he never even knew Hyuck was gay, or if he was ever out of the closet to some extent. It just seemed like another one of Mark's goofy theories. "Kind of like... an open secret?"

"Am I like that?"

Mark quakes. "What?  _You?_ Oh no. God, no. When people learn about this— about you— they're going to flip. It'll be a shocker, like National Television and news vans and everything."

That doesn't make him feel better.

"No one's going to know, because I'm not going to tell anyone else." His voice cracks as he speaks, the inherence in his fear apparent.

"Hey— I mean. People knowing. That's kind of good, though." Jeno shakes his head at that, his mind boggled.

"What's good about that?"

"Means you don't have to like, do a whole publicity stunt on the steps of city hall to prove you're gay or whatever it is you're afraid of."

At that, he struggles to maintain a neutral expression, scoffing now. "What I'm afraid of, Mark, is that my parents will know, and maybe Jaehyun will know, and then everybody else will. And I can't be any more of a disappointment to the people around me more than I already am because the least I can do for myself is to believe I'm not going to end up like what they say. Do you even know what they say about me? Damn, where do I even begin? They say I'm kick-starting a band one day, the next day I'll go on and get some bitch pregnant, or that I'll have sex with her so much that she gets chlamydia and her ovaries harden and fall out of her twat. How worse would that get if they learned I'm gay? One day I'm ogling on guys, next thing I know, I have AIDS and I'm homeless and Satan's going to be glad to see me burning in hell."

"The world's not like it was before, dude. See, there are places where guys like you can get, like, married now or something, too."

He frowns. "This isn't one of those places."

"Well— not _now_ , you mean. No one's going to corner you in an alley and beat you up just because you're out of the damn closet."

"You wouldn't really know, wouldn't you? I mean— I wouldn't, either." He says. "People won't beat me up, but I take one look at their faces and I'll just know that they're fucking dying to and they just won't do it, but they'd run for any chance they could. You know, I beat myself up for it all the time, too. The only time I don't is when I remember there's this other boy on the other side of town who I love, crying himself to sleep because he doesn't feel like he should belong in his own skin, and I f-feel like I have to be strong for him."

"Then stop doing that! Come on! Do you think you don't deserve— like, a chance at the real world just because you're not like... normal? You could like men, and you _do_ like men. And what? That doesn't negate anything... so maybe that's a good thing. An okay thing."

"What do you think this is? Fucking _Rainbowville, Imaginationland_? Fucking _Smileytown_? What makes you think I'd even have the guts to be comfortable with myself like that? I can't even tell my mom or my dad, or Jaehyun, and at one point even you and Jaemin, for that matter." He says.

Mark speaks back instantly. "Maybe you're just stuck in hiding."

"What?"

"You want to stay stuck in hiding because there's nowhere else to be. You're terrified of being elsewhere." Mark says. "Is that what you're thinking?"

"I don't— what." He sneers. "Okay. Yeah. Maybe you got it. It's like I can't move from where I stand, but it's not like I'm stuck, either. I just like where I am too much to ever actually want to move."

"Doesn’t mean you’re fine where you are. I get that it’s not that easy, but. See, you love Jaemin, right?" Mark reiterates, his voice going deeper. “Chances are he likes you just as much.”

He lets out a huff as he nods, knowing the risk of that. " _And_? So what? That's not what he wants. Me chasing after him, I mean— he's just as scared as I am. Except he's obviously not so adamant to make any first moves."

"Just try and turn your life around for him." He mutters. "Just. Go for it."

"No. I really appreciate the heads-up, dude. But I'm not going to do that, thank you very much." Going for it was easier said than done, because trying to win Jaemin back was only the calm before the storm, and it’s clear they both know it.

"God, I don't think you know what's going on here." Mark chuckles breathlessly.

He raises a brow nervously. "Do _you_ know?" Mark finally laughs at this, like he was in on some massive universal secret that Jeno isn't aware of yet.

"All I really know, dude, is that Jaemin— he’ll be the death of you." He says. Jeno retorts back with a mumbled " _duh,_ " like that _was_ the whole point.

Before Mark could sneak in a response, Jeno climbs back up the stairs and groans when Mark shrugs at him, and suddenly he finds himself thinking: _Maybe it is._

 

Time flies for a short while. His route to the auditorium, amidst the doubling, _tripling_ amount of people from all across town and even his walk to the backstage had been a singular blur of typical, pressure-induced but mostly drained nerves. He isn’t so sure about how it’s suddenly 6p.m., or how the auditorium is suddenly packed, or how he’s suddenly there, how he’s suddenly part of this, waiting in line to dish out their performance in just a few moments, way before he could even be aware enough to know it.

Jeno is— fortunately —undazed and sufficiently conscious to witness a quarter of the program take place from the small view that they’re duly provided in the backstage, with Jaemin providing a short opening speech to commence the event; reciting his own inspiring rendition of May Swenson’s _Earth Your Dancing Place_ and then, shortly after, his sensual execution of one of her more romantic poems: _Blue_. He twirls the words out, sweet-sounding, lingering, drags it through and across his lips like he could taste them, pops his lips on the _P’s_ and _B’s_ like he’s eager for a kiss, and the applause after his delivery was _awe-striking;_ made Jeno feel like that was just the sound of his heart beating straight out of his chest, like his ventricles clapping together or something—and somehow it was all... shushed, muted by his held breath. Jeno finds it less sexy and vague, finds it possibly more shit-faced, a little snarky of Jaemin; it’s like Jeno knew that Jaemin was _maybe_ getting off to the thought of him getting off to a new, refreshingly sultry bite to his voice—or something to that effect. Whatever it was Jaemin was trying to achieve with that tone—with that whole thing, or whatever it was he was trying to make Jeno feel, he probably succeeded, anyway. (Hard as it is to admit, he always does.)

After that, he didn’t have much audacity to focus; he was still stuck on Jaemin—on how he’d breathed out, dreamily and lovingly, _you’re white in patches, only mostly Rose, buckskin and salty, speckled like a sky_ , and how Jeno deeply, relentlessly feels like that was meant for him, even though there was still the major possibility that it wasn’t and he was just being delusional. He’s in another dimension, in some alien summer getaway, all while different sets of people come and go on the stage to perform; he’s too oblivious of reality to fully make out the deadbeat crowd, which is probably why the dawning nervousness of performing without much practice hasn’t whacked him straight across his ass. _Yet._

It’s minutes before their performance when Jeno gets the mighty urge; the unrelenting need to suddenly vomit his guts out.

They’re on standby in the backstage now, subtly waiting for their cue; he knows he can’t go out looking like Bloody Mary popped an eyeball out of her pussy and scared the shit out of him, but what mattered more right then was the thought of knowing he couldn’t just back out, either.

He reckons it's the same feeling he experienced first-hand the last night he went to Jaemin's house before he broke everything off. He wasn't aware he could put a name on it, not the last time, but it's here again and it feels even realer; even shittier.

Back then he couldn't even tell if he was actually feeling it. He just had to say, "Hey, Jaemin. I'm breaking up with you," and then it was over and it felt over; in both senses. He felt his vision clear up and his sinuses thaw gradually, the heavy feeling in his chest and in his stomach dissipating, and then he sees Jaemin like that, eyes glossy, lips pinched together in blankness, and he ultimately decides that the sight of that was, by a great margin, an even worse thing to encounter.

Right now, though, was different. Right now, it's explicably _visceral;_ like boiling water seeping down his throat and churning his guts through a blender while he rides through the twists and turns of the world's tallest, deadliest roller coaster. His heart beats faster, and his veins are slow to catch up, practically screaming at him to motherfucking _stop it. Just stop it_. Cold sweat breaks through his heavy forehead. Now it feels like he's going to want to rip his heart out of his chest, or maybe he'll magically grow two, three, maybe four hearts at once and he'll have to deal with how shitty it is to have countless beating organs that jam the rest of his body apart even when they don't even have the mere capacity to function like one. The worst thing about feeling that way was that no one could tell he was feeling it unless he said something. And he was damn sure he wasn't going to do that.

It isn't even a second later when he changes his mind, the pain catching up to him, grabbing him by his neck like he had no choice but to let it do to him what it has to do. "Dude, I need to puke." He stutters out when his knees go wobbly, calling shakily for both Mark and Yukhei. They turn to look at him, gears turning and locking in their heads as they draw down to guide Jeno before he falls onto his feet, caving in.

"What. Like, right now?" Yukhei says, hands on Jeno's back. "Shoot. Look. There's a bucket over there."

" _Shit,_ Yukhei. Really?" Mark groans, brows curling. "I don't want to see him do that. That's just. Nasty."

"Do you want him to vomit on the crowd, then?" Yukhei says back, tauntingly. "Is that what you want, Mark? You want to see those asshats covered in Jeno's breakfast gunk?"

"Don't make me think about that or else we'll _all_ end up vomiting."  Mark cringes. "He's not going to vomit on anyone. He's got this--"

"Guys. Thirty seconds and you're on stage," Hyuck calls out from behind the curtain, eyes blowing wide when he sees Jeno on the floor, coughing and hacking on oxygen he suddenly can't inhale.

"He's fine." Mark cooes, looking down at Jeno. "You're fine. Do you hear me? Are you fine?"

"I am.” Then his hands fly to his mouth, hastily covering up what seems to be the early remnants of his soon-to-be vomit-induced shame. “Okay. Mostly."

“God, that’s _sooo_ reassuring.” Hyuck peers down, rolling his eyes. Jeno’s grave situation gets twice as alarming when the act before them had now started bee-lining out of the stage, the production committee already reeling in Mark’s drums to the middle, meaning he’ll have to make the decision of just staying out or going for it sooner rather than later. Hyuck promptly sighs, his mouth forming a pout when Jeno heaves down. “This is worrisome. You’re part of the last act. We can’t just— I don’t think we can really do much to stall.”

“There’s— no need for that. I can take this, hopefully.” Jeno stands up, breathing in a slightly sharp inhale. He takes a small step forward before exhaling deeply, his eyes hammered on nothing in particular. “If I somehow black out on stage and die or something, tell my family they can fuck right off.”

“Great! Then it’s a dying promise.” Yukhei jokes, patting him on the back before he squeezes in between them to dash for the stage, bringing his guitar with him. Before he leaves the backstage completely, Hyuck halts him, wishing him good luck, because apparently now he needs it more than anything else. He doesn’t forget to thank Hyuck, even if he’d only managed to slur it out incoherently.

 

He feels like he could be light as a feather and heavy as a bulldozer when he walks up the stage, feet dragging against the floorboards, the sweat-slick strands of his gelled hair now matted flat to his forehead. Once they’re there he feels a small amount of his anxiety alleviating instead of intensifying, and it weirds him out enough to stutter through their short compulsory introduction. He can’t be wrong when he thinks he heard someone in the crowd scream about Mark being hot, and Mark’s awkward laugh in response enlightens him, but only a little. He steps back from the mic shortly, sending a shifting peek at both Mark and Yukhei before he takes a deep breath and waits for Mark’s count while he gives himself time to fucking control and relax his thoughts.

After three or so seconds, Mark gives it a steady go, setting the tempo and drumming to the tune of the Red Hot Chili Pepper's _Give it Away_. Immediately, a sizable amount of the crowd goes wild; _sizable_ being barely three people. He recognizes those shouts from anywhere. Those juniors he used to lead in the basketball tryouts back when he still played for the league: Jisung and Chenle. From the other side of the auditorium, he spots Jaemin amidst the crowd and a few of the other guys cheering them on, and at this he picks up the pace with his guitar, a little unsure.

He's pulled into a reverie all of a sudden, like he’s stifled; maybe jarred in the literal sense. His dizziness feels less real and more inebriated, telling him: _This could only go two ways._ If he decides to stay in the jar, then there’s no one else outside of it that would be able to hear him. If he decides to open his mouth and shout as loud as he can to let loose, he’ll break through the glass, and it would only be a matter of the crowd’s enthusiasm to whatever the fuck it is he’s doing before he could be confident enough to realize that they’ve got this all under control. He finds his voice, breathes in milliseconds before his cue to sing; to make his big decision.

He’s an idiot for screaming with his loud voice blaring clear across the auditorium, but it was okay. This was something he — maybe all of them — could laugh about. And that seems to do the trick. He’d be more of an idiot if he chose to stay in mumble-volume, anyway.

With every passing lyric he manages to sing out, he grows more courageous, and with each repeated chant of _give it away_ , the crowd grows more alarmingly encapsulated; intrigued and enthused. It seems fate was _more than_ an ally in the moment, because now they’ve got the audience hooked, their attentions set firm on them now. It makes him dither for a second, because this was overwhelming—too _damn_ overwhelming, and it fills him with thoughts of joy and excitement and craziness and chaos and _shit_ and _oh_ and _wow I can’t believe this is actually happening to me and my friends right now,_ and even then it still feels like the crowd’s enjoyment was way too good to be true.

By the end of the song, the crowd rejoices, and it's the best thing he's ever come across for the whole week, the whole month, quite possibly even his whole life. It feels redeeming, victorious, absolutely surreal, and to know that this was just a taste of what's to come next kept his mind on severe overdrive. He shouts into the mic, feeling less nauseated now, "One more song!" like a part of himself that he had hurled out to the masses. Mark, Yukhei, and everyone else grow ecstatic at this, the cheers growing even louder as he strums out the opening chords to Neutral Milk Hotel's _Song Against Sex._

He plays the rest of it out like he's supposed to; with aggression and vigor, but also like he really enjoys what he's doing. He sees himself as if he were looking in from the crowd, and he senses the bubbling laugh surging in Yukhei's chest, the held-back smile tugging on the corners of Mark's lips as he bangs on the drums to the tune. It hits him then how this was exactly what he was doing this for; seeing Mark and Yukhei and himself in hindsight, making the most out of their frenzy, caught up in the emotion of the moment and wanting nothing else but to stay there, wanting to cherish it for the rest of their goddamn lives like it's the only thing that will ever make them feel like they're alive and real.

He loves this, and he doesn't ever want to stop feeling like he loves this. Only partly because of the crowd's astounded engagement, and only partly because Jaemin was part of it, but mostly because he was sure that he and his band were now capable of something magical and universal, and he would have never thought they'd get there with smiles on their faces, but they did. They _got_ there, with not only enrapturingly toothy grins but with a crowd of equally enticed people to see it all fall into place.

Right now, in the middle of the stage with his band, he feels like he's floating through space, aimlessly infinite.

Right _fucking_ now, that felt like everything.

He huffs loud when he strums the last chord, his heart almost beating out of his chest from the adrenaline. The audience is enticed, enamored, continuously shouting out, _"Encore! Encore!"_ He suddenly doesn't know what else to sing next, but then he looks to where he knows he should be looking, to _Jaemin_ , and suddenly a million tunes pace through his head like a flashy little gameshow roster, traversing through his mind in waves of endless and vibrant color. He's unstoppable; so high on the scene that he feels like he could do just about anything. He looks back to Yukhei and Mark and grins when he realizes that with a single glance, they understood: _The moment had shifted. It was time for Jaemin now._

He taps against the mic, one last time, sweat now dripping down his temples, and with a resounding huff that echoes through the venue, he smiles and looks back out to the crowd.

"This next song goes out to a special someone. Somewhere out there. _Here._ I hope you know who you are." Then, he runs his guitar pick through the strings; the opening chords to Jaemin's favorite The Kinks' song: _This Strange Effect._

**_"You've got this strange effect on me,_ **

**_And I like it._ **

**_You've got this strange effect on me,_ **

**_And I like it."_ **

The crowd dies down, but in a good way. Half the audience had gathered and moved to the sides, the rest congregating in the middle, hands on shoulders and clinging to waists to slow dance amidst the song.

There are couples hand-in-hand, younger teenagers moving to the corner in pre-pubescent disgust, even groups of girls swaying their bodies to the beat. Jeno's eyes circle the crowd, his voice keeping everyone inside their massive song bubble, but he's stuck somewhere else; his gaze moves past everyone and singles out on Jaemin, their eyes meeting, and suddenly they're yanked back into their own secret world.

**_"You make my world seem right,_ **

**_You make my darkness bright, oh yes,_ **

**_You've got this strange effect on me,_ **

**_And I like it._ **

**_And I like it_**."

He feels feather-light, his face warming up to the sight of Jaemin like this; astounded, pink and giggly and giddy in full knowing. He knows he's _exactly_ who this is for, and he sways a little to the tune of Jeno's voice, unable to hide the smile creeping on his angelic face. It's quite possibly the most beautiful thing Jeno's ever seen in his whole life.

**_"And I like the way you kiss me,_ **

**_Don't know if I should._ **

**_But this feeling is love, and I know it,_ **

**_That's why I feel good."_ **

Jeno is sad like that, because he looks at Jaemin and he knows he's thinking of _something._ Something like, having no idea what's going to happen to him and Jeno after this; if, once the magic of Jeno's enticing tune dies down, they'll have to pretend the magic was never there in the first place. He knows this, because he's thinking of the same thing. He can't keep Jaemin, or Mark or Yukhei or himself or any of these people inside of their song bubble for the rest of time. He can't keep making this matter when he's out of the moment. He can't hold on to a bubble, or else it'll pop. _That's just how it is._

Jaemin's smiling, mouthing something now. Jeno can't make it out all that well, but in the end he knows he didn't have to know. Their understanding of it is tacit; the realness of it only coming to view when he sees a single tear gush out from Jaemin's eyes; a sign that meant they were going to be okay like this, the kind of thing that meant being sad didn't always have to mean _not happy._

**_"You've got this strange effect on me,_ **

**_And I like it._ **

**_You've got this strange effect on me,_ **

**_And I like it."_ **

Jeno is sad like that, because now the whole thing was ending too soon. He'll have to stop singing now, and then he'll have to leave the stage and he'll have to be stuck wishing this was going to be one of those things that everyone will hopefully take a piece out off; that everyone will wake up days later still thinking of tonight, that he might have even been one of the people who conspired it, or that he was part of this massiveness, and he'll be thanking the heavens for the fact that he always will be.

**_"You make my world seem right,_ **

**_You make my darkness bright, oh yes,_ **

**_You've got this strange effect on me,_ **

**_And I like it._ **

**_And I like it._ **

**_And I like it."_ **

When the song ends, the audience claps and shouts for them, loud and damn clear like they mean it, the sound of their howls ringing over and over in his ears. He bows, shouts out a massive thank you and leaves to head for the backstage, hugging Mark and Yukhei in his stupor with the thought of that in mind. He catches a sight of Jaemin squeezing himself through the applause of the crowd to make his way back to the stage, running now.

Jaemin shouts out from the corner of the stage curtain as soon as he gets there, out of the audience's sight. _"Alright! Places! Places, people!"_

Everyone in the backstage does as they're told and falls into a messy line, first act to next act, waiting for their signal to get back on stage for the final moment of the show. There’s a sudden whack of commotion in the backstage, everyone suddenly jumpy and fueled. Jeno is last in line, feeling giddy as he hears the audience's applause grow louder with each group of performers lining up on the stage one by one, until soon enough Jaemin looks at him, and it’s their eyes locking again. Again. And _again_.

It starts to feel out of this world when the distance between them starts to minimize with each group of people leaving the backstage, making him feel hyper-aware of his breathing, his nostrils flaring and his throat growing impossibly dry for Jaemin. Now he feels like doing something he suddenly can't get out of his head. His feet tap down on the floorboards in his daze, his lips growing shaky when he realizes that Jaemin might be just as wracked up, blushing and thinking of the same thing.

When it's their turn, Mark and Yukhei run out to the stage right on cue, wild and ecstatic, screaming in glee before they even get there. The crowd grows in raptures at the sight of them, the cheers loud and clear even from the backstage.

Jeno decides to linger backstage for a split-second, until it's only him and Jaemin left, and the latter turns to raise a brow at this, but before he even does so Jeno steadily leans towards him, pressing their lips hush together. And it feels— _good._ Sacred. Explosive. Groundbreaking and _way_ too long overdue.

Jaemin tastes like an hours-old worth of flavored Chapstick, smooth and sweet and antiseptic. Jeno strangely, _similarly,_ tastes like entertainment.

Jaemin winces against his lips, his eyes shaking shut while he tries to keep track of his breathing. His hands teeter near Jeno's neck now, his thumb leaving soothing circles across the fine hairs on Jeno's shuddering nape in encouragement. Jeno savors it and holds himself back at the same time, his hands moving up to linger on Jaemin's waist, and what lasted mere seconds felt like it stretched beyond countless and countless of hours. They don't move like that, afraid that once they do, they'll start wanting something more, and of course it's too soon for that. They can't _want things more_ around a crowd full of people, but he figures when it's just the both of them, it will start paying off; _making sense._

When Jeno pulls back, Jaemin mindlessly chases after him with his body and tumbles, much to his reddish, frenzied humiliation. Jeno walks past him, snickers and ruffles his hair then.

 _"Later."_ He says, quick to remind Jaemin of the promise for something more.

Jaemin hazily nods over and over to this, right before following suit, clumsily falling next to Jeno in line right before they all bow together, hand-in-hand all while the curtains close, bringing the program to an iconic and clearly successful end.

 

The whole event was, in many ways, a remarkable feat.

It still felt very grand, and in the midst of it all Jeno stands back and takes everything in. The crowd is crazy, elated for them, even as they start walking and pacing back to their cars and bicycles in the parking lot, the audience dissipating. Mark trails beside him out of habit, his arms around Jeno's shoulder as he recalls and gushes over the rush of adrenaline down his veins when the people had shouted for them while they were playing. Jeno still feels sort of lightheaded, like he'd been coming down from his high, everything starting to become normal again. Yukhei and Renjun are teetering out of the scene, suddenly in their own bubble, and to think they barely even knew each other when the night began. He thinks to himself, this must be what a wonderful world is like. And when he looks far, far ahead, he sees Jaemin, wrapped up in a blue Texwood jacket, laughing and glowing in the overhead light, and he thinks again, _no_ , he knows, for sure this time: This is exactly what a wonderful world is.

Now he feels like running for it instead of keeping his wonderful world in his jar of things he's not supposed to chase after, because _fuck it_. He can't deprive himself of something he knows is worth having, not when it's held out to him so easily, not when the perfect moment hadn't come at anyone's cost. He trembles in his place, stuck in the intersection of moving backward and reaching for the stars. Then he feels a hand move slow through his arms, patting him back to reality.

"Don't think about it, just— go get him, dude." He hears Mark say, like he'd just been there, listening to Jeno's internal crisis. He smiles at Mark, then Mark smiles at him back. He can think about the rest of the world some other time. For now, for forever, he thinks about _go get him, dude_ , and that's the only reassurance he needs.

"Jaemin!" He sprints after him then, everything else in the nightlife growing blurry in his daze. He sees Jaemin turn to look at him in surprise, his brows furrowing in worry when Jeno heaves down, his hands landing to his knees as he huffs over and over.

He musters up all his courage and curls it into a massive ball in his chest in the last second, standing to face Jaemin, chest up, lips pressed tight shut in a delayed invitation.

"Can I— may I— uh, _please—_  let me walk you home?"

Jaemin gapes at him, dumbfounded, his mouth slightly parted like he just forgot how to speak for a stunted moment. "Yes." Then he nods and smiles, chuckling a little. "Yes. Of course. I'd love that."

"'Kay." He says, awkwardly, because he knew there were countless of other things to say but his mind was too clouded to single out anything else but _'kay_ , which is quite dumb of him. Jaemin doesn't mind this and even has the earnestness to laugh at this a little, like it was normal. He then turns his head and starts walking after signaling Jeno, confidence oozing. Jeno follows suit, feeling massively ridiculous in comparison, which is, again, dumb of him, especially after he'd just kissed Jaemin flush against the curtain chamber of their backstage like that; exactly like _that._

He feels the world watching his every move, pushing them close, cheering him on while they walk side-to-side on the cold and gritty asphalt. He steels himself, puts his game-face on like he knew that whatever it was he needed to happen, it was going to happen tonight or never at all. Jaemin is probably, in a miniscule sense, aware of this too. The universe was kind enough to continuously remind him that tonight was fate, destiny, predestination, kismet, fucking _karma._ And he doesn't think it works that way, but he's okay with that. He's more than okay with that, somehow.

"Do you—uh, hey. Can I hold your hand, Jaem?" He asks so suddenly, letting his thoughts slip out like they aren't really meant to be said, even if they are. At this point they're still walking, with Jaemin teetering close and Jeno a little slow to trail after.

Jaemin squints at him. "Why do you keep asking for my permission?"

"I don't want to repeat the same rookie mistake I made last Wednesday." He explains. "Not that I think asking is going to make you say yes now, but still. It wouldn't hurt me to."

Jaemin takes Jeno's trembling hand in his own, laughing now. "Very bold of you. Very spooky. Very romantic."

"Ha-ha. You're the town's new savior, at least, for the next 24 hours, I think." Jeno shrugs as he explains, a little flustered by the feeling of Jaemin's gaze burning against his cheeks. "No one's going to care that you're holding my hand on the way home."

"Yeah. Right." He says, following up with a mumbled "Sorry." Much to Jeno's perplexion.

"Why are you apologizing?" He asks. "Did you--"

"I was worried you hated me now or something." Jaemin confesses, his eyes on the ground as they walk. "You didn't show up to practice for, like, three days or so. I thought it was... because of the-"

"Because of you?" Jaemin nods surrenderingly, pinching his mouth closed. Jeno squeezes Jaemin's hand then, letting the weight of the things left unsaid slip through Jaemin with his shaky fingers. Jaemin instantly understands this and drops the conversation, knowing Jeno wanted to say _, it's not because of you. It's because of me._ And although Jaemin didn't want to admit it, he wanted to say that he was scared of Jeno always being programmed, practically hard-wired into taking the fall a little more devastatingly.

“Hyuck told me you freaked out earlier.” Jaemin says. “Backstage?”

“Well, I managed.”

“Yeah.”

“Yup.”

“Is there anything you want to tell me? Like, now?” Jaemin asks him, his voice squeaky. Jeno ponders over that, but decides that he really didn’t have anything to say that wasn’t just a catalyst to an explosive confession, which he knows isn’t something that either of them could possibly handle even now; if Jeno’s emotions had been any stable measurement, or if it were even stable at all.

“Nope.” He says, shrugging. Jaemin seems shocked by this.

“I do.” He gulps.

He squeezes Jaemin’s hand again, reassuringly. “Then tell me, Jaemin.”

"Well, I remember you walking me back here when you'd sneak me out to watch you duke it on your guitar." Jaemin giggles, feeling light while he talks a topic of hidden territory. "I'd be asleep then you would throw rocks at my bedroom window, and when I'd jump out from my balcony you were always down the porch to catch me. Then you would sing me a song while we held hands under our jackets and walk down the sidewalk all the way to your house...and then. On your bed like that, when you'd collapse right next to me and we would have those weirdly romantic pillow talks, where you'd always sneak a kiss to my lips, and that was always the best part of it all; the secrecy, the sobriety, the impulse, the sentiment, everything about it. It still keeps me awake at night."

"Were you ever scared like that?" He asks, sheepishly. Jaemin turns to look at him then. "At the thought that someone might have found out about it, about us. About what we had?"

"I was." He says. "I'd feel so invincible but also so vulnerable; just being there with you. But then I would feel like that didn't matter at all. That's another thing that keeps me awake at night."

"Is this a book you're writing, Mister Na?" He jokes. _"Things that keep me awake at night?"_

" _Ha_. That book's all you." He admits. "There's nothing else that keeps me awake now, to be honest. Just the thought of you."

Jeno feels his heart beat faster when he hears that. It mirrors him, in a way, reminding him of all those times he'd been lying stuck in his clammy room in the summer just so he could write all his cheesy songs for Jaemin that he'll never actually admit to doing.

Jaemin takes Jeno's silence as an opportunity to go on, while Jeno listens attentively. "It's like a me against the world situation, and anyone would like, lose their fucking shit if they were ever dragged into something that drastic. But then I thought, if I'd learned to look at the bright side or live with it, then it wouldn't be so bad. It's just one of those things where you start to feel like... the rest of the world is upside down. And we're the only ones right side up."

Jeno laughs, and then says " _God_ , I should have never broken up with you," he cuts himself off too late, breathless now that he realizes how sure he was when he said it.

Jaemin stares at him in awe, speechless for a moment. "...And I should have chased after you when you walked away, but I didn't, did I? _Mutual idiocy_." He confesses, completely silent now.

"I hate that I didn't know what I had to do." He whimpers, the words coming out like vomit. "I hate that the only thing I could think of when I was avoiding you was being with you. I hate that I thought I hated you, and that I didn't know what I had to let go, or what I had to keep, or what I was worried about. I just— don't know. And now—"

"Now what, Jeno?" He mumbles.

"Now?" He repeats. " _Now._ I've lost you."

"...This is freaking me out— that’s a good thing. I swear." Jaemin nods abruptly, his voice held back and solemn. "In fact, I actually feel the same way."

"You?" He huffs out, slightly argumentative. "What makes you think you were ever unsure?"

"I know you love me. That was the thing— back then and even until now." Jaemin breathes out, and then, a little shakily, replies: "The thing was, I didn't know I loved _you_. And— it was so easy for me to let go because of that, thinking I wanted to lose what we had because it shouldn't matter. I just never knew, back then, how _good_ it was."

Jeno has nothing to say to that; it wasn't the kind of speechlessness where he had something to say but didn't want to say it. His mind was blank now, empty, urging him to stay silent until all that's left is getting nowhere.

Jaemin pauses in his tracks, the breeze brushing his hair back right before he speaks again. "I just wished I realized all this when it still mattered, you know?"

"I mean," Jeno says. "It does still matter—"

"Not the way it used to." Jaemin sniffs, tears trickling down the corners of his eyes now, but he doesn't even do much to wipe it off.

Jeno shoots up, weakly responding. "We can still bring that back. In a sense. It doesn't have to be exactly the same, right?"

"You're right." He chuckles, his forced smile explaining everything. "Even if I want to be held by you and be kissed by you every night and now I have to pretend I didn't want that as much as I did back then. I still want it. I think I want it even more now, to be honest. But I'm assuming you don't."

Jeno's brows quirk. "Don't what?"

"Want things back." He states quickly. "Because that's just who you are. You're Lee Jeno. Always looking forward, never backward, and I know it's because you think there isn't something good to look back to."

"There is." He stammers. "Just one thing."

"That could be anything _but_ me."

"But it _is_ you."

"Then take me back!" He snaps and it shakes Jeno, causing him to hinder his own response in fear of saying the wrong things.

He chokes back, steeling himself. "...It isn't that easy. It's not like everything's just going to be, like, _poof_. Back to normal, or as normal as it can get. We aren't exactly what people consider something they'll see everyday. We can't live a single day without being scared for our own lives. God, I can't even hug you without you worrying over thinking I'm going to indirectly expose us for being gay or some shit like that, remember?"

Jaemin's face falls. "So you don't want to."

"Of course I want to-" he pauses. "You know, besides everything-- I still remember what you said. There wasn't any steady attachment. And it sounded like a lot of bull, back then, but realizing how reckless we'd been just makes it make a lot of sense."

"I didn't actually mean it. Or any of what I said. I- I liked that. Being reckless with you." He huffs. "I just didn't want to think I liked that."

"I don't know, Jaemin. I feel— stunted. Stupid. And now you're making me feel like I didn't hesitate when I-"

"Hesitate?" He groans. " _Hesitate?_ Okay— you know, Jeno. I realized things when I stormed out last Wednesday. Massive, massive things. Things like— being scared of my future, being scared that I'm gay, being in denial over the fact that the only reason I'm scared is because I knew you weren't there with me, and then being sorry. I'm an idiot because you were the same person I was trying so hard to avoid, thinking you were this black hole sucking the life out of me when you were actually the one keeping me grounded in the first place. I’m fucked for thinking there was always just some unknown reason why I couldn’t just be with you. And you could tell me I just need some time, but I’ve had enough damn time and I know exactly what I want now and it’s _you_.”

"Okay, no." He sighs, although he's flushed. "You just don't get it—"

"You're right. I don't get it. I just never understood." He says. "Or maybe I thought I did. And honestly that's even worse."

 _"Okay. What?"_ He asks, pauses, confusion and pressure weighing him down like he’d been carrying a sack of potatoes this whole time.

"Jeno. God. You know I still want to be with you. All this me bullshit just got in the way." He mumbles sheepishly. "And fuck, what am I doing, making a fool of myself like this? It's fine if you don't want me. Or if you don't— want to be with me anymore. But— you know, something makes me think that... it really doesn't seem to be the case."

Jeno, at that point, was utterly stupefied; feeling like he'd just been pieces away from solving a puzzle until someone comes in and smashes the whole damn thing for him. He feels like crying, punching a wall, changing his name and moving to another city at the same time, but not as much as he wants to solve this thing in front of him right now. He's irrevocably cornered and might be chronically at a loss for words, but that doesn't mean there's nothing he can do.

"Do you know that I'm-?" He starts hesitantly, urging Jaemin to look back and face him despite his lonely walking. They're on their way to the neighborhood intersection now, and in a couple of minutes they'll be standing in Jaemin's home, bidding their goodbyes. Jeno prays they don't reach it soon enough.

Jaemin tilts his head. "You're a _what,_ Jeno?"

"A misfit. A downer. Everything in that context." He says. "I try to be my own person but the more I realize I should give up on that, the more I come to know that I'll never actually leave my brother's shadow. Or, you know— I just beat myself up for shit I have no control over, and I don't want to drag you into this because I'm fucked up."

"Is that why you broke up with me?" He purses his lips together, his brows curling. "Because you never think you're good enough?"

"Yes." No. "No." _No?_ Yes. "Yes."

"Jeno. Did you even see how amazing you are up that stage? Watching you up there with your band. I mean, that's pretty much like a first-hand experience to what magic feels like if you could touch it."

"I know, I know, dude. But, like—I freaked out, still. You get what I mean about not being satisfied with myself."

"Yeah. Even I write about not being good enough." He says. "We're all not good enough. That’s kind of the thing about humanity. We’re just not all _that_."

"That's what you think." He says. "You think we should just be glad for whatever the fuck we can get. Well, not when— you know, when the sadness of not being enough consumes you. It's just sad piling on sad. People just tell you: You have to deal with it. Live with it. It's going to be better. And no one ever tells you that living with it means it's never actually going to end. They never tell you you're going to hate yourself even more for it."

“How should I think, then?” Jaemin sneers at that, pausing to eye the street light next to their gate. "What I'm really just trying to say, Jeno, is that at some point everyone starts to feel like they're not enough. A lot of people get depressed. A lot of people start to feel like they're not doing the right thing, or they're not doing enough of the right thing. A lot of people would rather just stay in their lane than do shit about their problems. Reality is fucked up, and it’s pretty shit, and we know that too damn well, but you know what they do? They don't mope around. They try and get over it. And best of all they stop being a hopeless piece of _shit_."

"You think I'm moping around and being a piece of shit?" He asks back, following Jaemin when he walks through their house gate. "Really, Jaemin? You couldn't have worded that any better?"

Jaemin hops to the curb before replying, his voice muffled when he fishes his keys from his back pocket. "Sort of. But, I mean, sorry. I got carried away."

“You’re not the realistic one between the both of us,” he says grimly. “ _Facts_ , Jaem.”

“Doesn’t make what I said any less true.”

“So you stand by your opinion.”

“I’m not saying I do.” He says. “I’m just, you know, _saying_.”

"You know, that's weird. That's just fucking weird." He admits, lingering near, knowing that, in many ways, Jaemin only told him exactly what he wanted and needed to hear, which is why he says "I don't feel offended at all."

Jaemin was sighing now, facing Jeno and speaking up when he finally opens the door and turns. "Look, Jeno, this conversation has been... sufficiently sentimental."

He smiles unsurely. "It was nice. For you, I think."

"Yes." He laughs. "It's really nice seeing you again. And talking to you again. But— I don't know. I might go up to my room and cry about this now."

"I hope I didn't freak you out." Jeno says, feet shivering down.

"But you did." He says frankly. "It's fine, though."

Jeno dwindles there at the doorstep, almost entirely sure he didn't want to leave, not yet, even though it had already been past 11 in the fucking evening and he still has to walk his way back home. He wanted to stay, and this was besides _Later_ ; which was just a label for the _promise_ he made to Jaemin earlier. When Jaemin notices this he tilts his head in worry, the awkwardness of their previous conversation slowly dying down. "Something wrong?"

"No." He says. "I just want to stare at you for a while."

"Oh, _shut up_." Jaemin rolls his eyes, his cheeks shifting from pink to red. "Something's obviously wrong."

"Jaehyun's just." He sighs. "The thing is he's back home. You know, college boy needs some time to cool off and shit. They're at some football game right now. I think." He mutters, scratching his nape before continuing. "I don't think they're home yet."

"Oh." Jaemin says, brows curling. "I don't know why, but. You sound like you hate him."

He sneezes at that, heaving. "I don't. I guess it's just… kind of shitty to have him around again, but look, that's for an entirely different conversation. I think I can live with it for a while. Don't worry about me, okay?"

"You're right. I'll be relieved, but— Jeno, hey. It's really, really late."

"I suppose it is." He shrugs. "What about you? You aren't going in yet?"

"What? Wait—" He gets sidetracked. _"What?"_

"You should go in. I mean." He taunts Jaemin, his eyes gleaming at Jaemin's sudden and perplexed reaction.

 "Aren't you..? I mean. Um, wow? Yeah, I— I'm just looking out for you, in case you..." he scoffs and pauses when he sees the sly smirk slowly forming on Jeno's face, and at that, he punches Jeno on his shoulder and pouts in his delayed knowing. "Oh my God, you _dick!"_ Jaemin shouts, fuming. "Get the fuck in here!"

Jeno cackles when Jaemin pulls him into the living room, both of their chests heaving. "Wait! You think I forgot, didn't you?"

"I didn't—no. Okay, okay! Stop laughing! Maybe I did!" He huffs like a child, his cheeks now blaring red and his eyes puffy. Before Jeno could say anything, Jaemin goes on and continues to ramble. "You know I couldn't just ask what _later_ meant. And I'm not some psychic to just know what's going on in your head either! What was I supposed to do, okay, when you were kissing me behind the curtains like that like you're carrying me away to some sacred cavern just so you could cut it off? And then- wow- you walk me home, and I thought, _wait, that's it_? And then I thought we were fighting on the way here or something, and there's no way in hell I was going to ask you when you were going to continue where we left off while you were arguing with me like that and-"

"You think I'm going to leave you hanging like that?" He snickers and pins Jaemin on his back against the living room wall, tears of joy blurring out his vision. "I'm hurt, Jaemin. _I might go up my room and cry about this now_."

" _Shut! Up! Fucker!_ " He whines and Jeno finds it in himself to chuckle at this, much to Jaemin's dismay.

"I'm buffering." He jokes, resting his head on the wall so his mouth falls flush against Jaemin's earlobe, whispering. "Working my way towards your ultimate human satisfaction."

"So what are you doing now?" He mumbles, rolling his eyes and blushing an even deeper shade of red, not moving an inch. "Pinning me to the wall and leaving me hanging?

"No," he says, turning closer and planting a soft peck to Jaemin's quivering lips, shutting him up. "Right now, I'm kissing you."

Jaemin goes into a fit of silent theatrical hysterics, letting the slosh in his mind linger until they start forming something coherent. Jeno is equally dazed, but instead of staying still he leans in and plants the softest of kisses on Jaemin's forehead, his cheeks and his jaw, countless of times, wishing it will mean something more significant than words to Jaemin. It could and it might, because now Jaemin was blushing— beyond what was considered a healthy amount of blushing, and maybe Jeno takes that as more of a compliment and a sign to go on more than anything.

Jeno lets Jaemin shake off his jacket for a quick moment, and then he leads him by his waist, kissing him continuously as they pace their way backwards; until Jaemin’s back falls flush against the seat of their L-shaped four seater, his hair shagged out and unkempt as he moans against one of the silky throw pillows.

They kiss some more—hands flying and touching and moving _everywhere_. Jaemin swoons against him, arms wrapped tight against his neck while Jeno trails his hand down to grab Jaemin by his thigh, hoisting his right leg up and hooking it flat on top of his shoulder. Jaemin’s hips shudder as he gasps against Jeno’s lips, leaning close to him, gaping stupidly. There's a brief moment where all they do is stare, clear yet murky, dazed but conscious.

“Fuck you so much,” Jaemin suddenly cries out, surprising Jeno. His hands move forward to cup Jeno’s cheeks as he whines, greedy, his index finger hovering to press down softly on the bruised skin of Jeno’s lips, his eyes trailing after.

“Whoa, hey.” Jeno goes redder; flinching still when he notices Jaemin’s eyes water.

“I can’t stand being away from you. Can’t stand this—God I love you. I love you so much, Jeno—“ He sputters, yanks Jeno down for a weakened sort of kiss; it’s the kind where their teeth clack and their noses smash together, and Jeno can’t decide why he finds that relieving. Like he’s finally sure of why this is happening.  "Lee Jeno. I don't _ever_ want you to leave me again."

“You sound like you’re threatening me.” Whispers Jeno, lips sore while he’s laughing.

“I am,” he says, breaths stuttering while Jeno moves down to press his lips against the outline of his jaw. “If you don’t stick with me now, I’m going to have to take matters to my own hands, and—oh _shit, fuck_ —God, damn. You make me _feel so good_ -”

“Jaemin,” he says, heaves the most humongous sigh there ever was before saying "These types of things— I've never..."

Jaemin shakes his head, hitching. "Me neither."

"We're just hopeless then, aren't we?" He chuckles, pulling Jaemin close by his waist so that their hips ground together. Jaemin turns an impossibly deeper shade of red, words coming across his mind and fleeing, his legs shaking when he feels _something else_ poking hard against his own something else. Then he looks away, almost shyly.

"Are we really going all out?" He asks, quietly. "Like, right now, o-on this couch?"

"You don't want to?" Jeno whispers this to him, nibbling softly on Jaemin's earbone. "Are we going too fast?"

"I do want to." He mumbles out, his temptation apparent. "And no, we're moving just fine. You've got me, like, all _wracked up_ inside for you... and you make me want you right away." He likes how Jaemin says _moving just fine_ like they thought of the whole situation similarly: not like it was a spur of the moment thing and more like it was one or two years— or maybe their whole lives in the making.

"You can have me right away. If you want."

 _"Right away,_ " he repeats, sounding unsure. "Is this what I think it is? Am I just going to be your training ground for all the things you're going to do in your bed to the men who'll watch your shows when you're finally famous?"

"I'll keep it real." He says back, pressing a kiss to Jaemin's forehead. "You're no training ground. Do you even know what you are to me?"

At that, Jaemin hesitantly shakes his head, his lips pinched together. Jeno smiles and draws down then, staring Jaemin eye-to-eye before he heaves slowly.

"You're the only one I'll ever do the things I'll do to. I swear to God, you're the only one." He whispers sensually, shifting closer to press a soft kiss against Jaemin's neck. The latter shudders at this, his toes stretching out. "You're the only one who gets to moan for it, only one who gets to scream for it." Jeno continues, moving slower, more sensual while he's huffing out sharp breaths, teeth baring and retreating while Jaemin shivers, his hands moving against the fabric of Jaemin's shirt. "Only one who gets to beg for it." His hands move upward, warm against the supple skin on Jaemin's abdomen, caressing him there while he leaves the smallest remnants of a bitemark against Jaemin's collarbone. Jaemin was restricted like this, lips red and straining from biting them for so long, his eyes practically pleading Jeno, who was just as eager to please. "Only one who gets to have it, touch it," He says, letting his palms fall flat and linger underneath Jaemin's chest, his thumb ghosting against his nipple while he grins at the feel of Jaemin's trembling, his eyes pinched shut and his lips quivering tenfold. _"Feel it."_   Jaemin moans loud when he says that, throwing his head back, sounding utterly debauched, too dizzy to hold back. The sound of that is nothing short of overwhelming, and Jeno feels like someone just punched all the oxygen out of him when Jaemin shudders when he says "I don't think I'll ever be needing anybody else but you,"

"Hey, _uh_ , we need lube. Or condoms. Right? Do we need that?" Jaemin blushes pure red, blurting out in lieu of having to acknowledge how wrecked and dazed the latter's act just made him feel. "I have— just the thing."

Jaemin scrambles a little upward, raising his left hand to the back of his head to reach for something in the drawer next to the couch. Jeno found it very hot and sexy; how Jaemin managed to keep his eyes hammered on Jeno's own, lips travelling through his jawline, tongue darting, licking, lust overly evident, and all while he simultaneously rummaged his fingers through the desk top. He gets lost in Jaemin for a while, their gazes burning on each other's skin, and all he can think of is kissing Jaemin; marring his body with love bites, calling him _mine,_ marking him his own, making _love_ to him, going insane and frenzied and so, fucking, _crazy_ ; but not until his thoughts are disrupted when he realizes Jaemin had just knocked over the flower vase that was on top of their drawer, the sound of hard glass coming in contact with the floorboards cutting him off from his overwhelming daze.

 _"Shit!"_ Jaemin hisses — more like yelps — and then gasps and shoots up, his knees flailing down from Jeno’s shoulders when he hears a voice coming loud and clear from the second floor.

"Jaemin! I heard noises! Everything okay down there?"

"Oh _fuck,_ " he mutters under his breath in shock, his voice going shaky. "Uh, mom. It's just Jeno!"

"Jeno? You two made up!? That's amazing!"

"O-okay mom! Well, he's uh— he's— _shit_. He’s leaving now!" He shouts back, because he knew they hadn't just made up. They've made _out_ as well. Jeno understands this and lets a chuckle pass through his lips.

"Your mom is a cockblocker." Jeno comments, eyes rolling back. “I can’t settle for this.”

"God. I can't do anything about that." Jaemin says blankly, still reeling. “What if she _heard?_ What the fuck am I going to do with my life then?”

"Do I really have to leave now?" Jeno says through a pout, and Jaemin finds it equal parts cute and utterly childish.

"Dude! I'm not having sex with you while my mom is up there!" He whisper-shouts, to which Jeno only cackles again in response.

He feels more like a teenage boy than he does a man when he stands up, patting down his tux when he nods down to Jaemin, who was still sprawled like a frozen eagle across the couch. It's like the sight of Jeno in a suit triggered something in Jaemin, because suddenly he was blushing again. Jeno raises a suspecting brow at this, chuckling.

"So you do like what you're seeing." He cooes, cutting Jaemin off his trance.

"Please shut up." He pouts, standing up and smoothing the creases on his own clothes down. "I can't want you if I know I can't have you. That's torture."

"Well." He grins, letting Jaemin lead him by his fingertips to the door, just to see him off. "You're not going to have any of it anyway. Not tonight."

"Is tomorrow good, then?" He says, saliva bobbing down his throat, his fingers tracing over the sleeves of Jeno's blazer a little mindlessly.

"What about tomorrow?" Jeno raises a brow, leaning his head back until it lands on the door.

"I could drop by your house early morning. We could drive out to the beach, buy some snacks and some coolers on the way there, swim, get a tan, watch the sun set," he gulps audibly, his cheeks turning red, his temptation the most obvious thing in the room to Jeno in that moment. "Rent a room. Maybe get high. Dance to some songs on the boom box... kiss a little..."

Jeno feels his throat go dry. "Then?"

"And then we sleep-- you _take me to bed_." He giggles, knowing they both understood that they were going to be doing something more than that.

"Are you asking me out on, like, a date?"

"A date, a honeymoon, a celebration. It's whatever we want it to be. Tomorrow." He smiles, ruffling Jeno's hair before he clicks the door open, walking Jeno outside. "I'll see you tomorrow, love."

Jeno runs down the curb, giddy, a little high on his own love-induced poison; but he is then yanked right back by Jaemin, the feeling of Jaemin's clammy fingers flush around his own sending shockwaves throughout his whole body and all the way to his heart, which was now nearly beating out of his goddamn chest.

 _"Later."_ Jaemin says, in a way that mimics Jeno when he'd said it a little earlier, kissing him soft and quick against the cheek. He squeezes Jeno's hand and looks full into Jeno's face, brushing the hair back from his eyes. "I love you."

"I love you too." He responds as quick as the thought of saying it comes to his head. And then, he follows up with "Still."

 _"Still."_ He laughs. "That's what I'd meant to say, sweetheart."

"Angel." He mutters.

“Sweet pea.”

“Darling,”

"Apple of my eye,"

"The brightest star in the dim and bleary night." 

“My  _Stanley Marsh_ in this cruel world of _Eric Theodore Cartmans_ ,”

“No—okay.” He laughs. “I draw the line there, honey.”

“Jesus Christ, I know.” He sighs, pouting. “We are such cheesy motherfuckers.”

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Let's hope you do." He smiles, heading back up and reaching for the doorknob. “Sweet dreams,”

“They’ll be filled with thoughts of you.” He says, hearing Jaemin’s chuckle resound through his chest despite the sound of the door slamming straight across him, leaving him out in the chill of the breeze.

That was the first time Jaemin's ever kissed him anywhere outside of his house. Technically, still somewhat in his house— or their lawn, or—  _whatever, that's not the point_ , he thinks. The point was that it happened, and he's in awe over that, his mind rushing on a myriad of thoughts that were meant to set him on a path back to Jaeminville; a path he wasn't so sure he still had the map to, even after tonight. A path he's now gone back to knowing so well like it was the back of his own hand.

 

This is one of those things that make him realize that he can, _if he hopes enough_ , have it all; Jaemin and his beautiful face, his beautiful smile, his beautiful brain, his beautiful voice and his beautiful laugh. He couldn’t forget, and he never did—all the good things— and even the bad things, things that he would find charming, endearing, miserable and hopeful and sad and wretched and even less, but always more beautiful; just all the things that he wouldn’t want to have any other way.

He grins wide on his walk home, at the sure thought of knowing there's someone out there who wants this just as much as he did, and there was no holding back on it anymore. Now, he thinks, not ever again: Why would he ever want to give up something like that?

This is exactly why he loved Jaemin; exactly why he knows that whatever might come to stand in their way now, be it a wall or a law or a disease or a person or the whole damn world, he won't need to let go for a second time.


	4. but with you, i'm sure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for smut in this chapter! enjoy :^)

It's 11:53a.m. on a Sunday when Jeno's life starts building its self back by its own.

He wakes up feeling awfully drained, muscles tenser than usual, but also like he’s shaken out of the best sleep he could ever have had in the past year or so. He doesn’t smell pancakes and bacon from the gap through his door, and he thinks it might just be because they’ve gone on eating breakfast without him; but that’s not something he finds himself caring about as much anymore. After all, he felt like last night was enough of a reminder that there’s still a reason he woke up that morning, that there was still a reason he was alive and _breathing_. And that was fine for him.

 _Last night_ —now that's something he could think about. He'd surely still been reeling from last night, because _of course_ he would be; what else would he be thinking of that would leave him with weightless bags on his eyes, crusty wet lashes and a smile on his face the moment he opens his eyelids besides Jaemin? The answer was, is, and always will be: Nothing.

When he feels roused enough, he heads down to the kitchen to grab his common box of _Froot Loops_ from the cabinet. He spots his mother there, frozen still on the counter, looking right back at him like she’s floored.

“Is that all you’re going to eat?” She asks, one arm crossed against her chest.

“Yeah,” he meekly responds, walking beside her to attain the carton of milk from the refrigerator. “I’m not that hungry. Cereal’s just—optimal, or—wait. Where’s the milk?”

“About that—“ his mom flinches up, the sound of the phone ringing alarming them both out of their awkwardness. His mom makes a look, one that obviously says _great save_ , and she sighs like she'd just been freed of all of her burdens.

Jeno shuffles around and shrugs, saying, “I’ll take that.” He walks over to the living room, cereal box in hand, and takes the call hastily.

“Hi, uh—“ the caller starts, his mere voice enough to bring a massive grin to Jeno’s face. “I-is… is this the Lee’s landline? Is Jeno available?”

He chuckles. “He’s speaking.”

“Oh, thank God. Hi, hey.” Jaemin sighs from the other line, relief washing over him. “I’m a letdown, I'm so sorry. Church totally flew right off my radar.”

“Is this about the—the beach trip... thing?” He asks, whispering.

“It’s not going to happen.” Jaemin says solemnly, disappointment clear in his voice. “I mean—not today. How bold of me to go all _is tomorrow good, then_ to you last night when I fucking forgot I serve the Lord on goddamn Sundays.”

“Don’t worry.” He says, trying to make Jaemin understand that he means it. “It’s all good.”

“I _am_ worried.” He whines. “I had plans, okay? Like, I was already thinking of how we would— watch the waves, or some shit like that. And then— just, everything. I was anticipating this. So much. Ugh.”

“Think of it this way.” Jeno chuckles while Jaemin goes silent on the other line, waiting for him to continue. “It’s not like you’ll die if we don’t go. There’s always tomorrow or the next day.”

"You don’t even know how _drastic_ this is, okay. See, I couldn't stop thinking about it. And you're all I could think about. Even at church, I mean." Jaemin admits, throat dry, his voice no more than a heavy mumble.

"Church?" He jokes. "Pretty sure they teach you to worship God and not me, Jaemin."

“You _know_ me, Jeno. I can’t help it.” He says, and Jeno is weirded out by the fact that he can somehow hear Jaemin’s pout through the line. _"_ Can't I just run away with you? Today? Tomorrow? I'm _dying_ to have you."

He clears his throat then, Jaemin’s voice wearing him down all of a sudden. "Have me where?"

"Everywhere, Jeno." He whimpers. "On me, inside of me...I need it _so_ bad-"

"Shit. If someone hears you we're done for." He chuckles, hopelessly hiding the anticipation in his voice. "Besides, there's school tomorrow."

"Do you really care about that right now?" He huffs. "Do you really care about school when we have this whole once in a lifetime opportunity ahead of us?"

"I don't." He laughs, so absorbed in the conversation. "God, that’s weird. How do you know me so well?"

"I thought we talked about this," he says. "It's not something I need to explain or, like, you know. I just do, I think."

"You must have had me pegged in the past life."

"Oh, yeah. Totally." Jaemin chuckles. "You sold your soul to me back in the medieval times,"

"Did I?"

"You did!" He says. "Wow, can't believe you don't even remember. This is saddening."

"Oh, shut up." Jeno says. 

"Nope, I can't do that."

"Yeah, you can, or at least just stop joking about souls and shit."

"Why, because I'm right?"

"No, because I can't remind myself of-"

"What?"

"You know, the fact that I'd kind of do it." He mumbles. "I'd sell my soul to you any day, to be honest."

"That's so sweet, you're such a sap." Jaemin says. "I'm going to hurl."

"Okay, well-"

_"Who you talkin' to?"_

Jeno shoots up when he hears that, finding Jaehyun looming from above him, his brows raised. "Just a friend." Jeno responds, to which Jaemin cackles from the other line.

 _"I'm hurt, Jeno,"_  Jaemin comments in a fake-sad tone, and Jeno's heart breaks a little when he brings himself to shush Jaemin.

Jaehyun scratches his nape, looking away and then looking back awkwardly. "Well, tell him we're off. We have to go to the supermarket."

"Wait, wait, _wait_." Jeno halts, voice cracking. "Just you and me?"

"Yeah, just us.” He shrugs. “Why? Do you have a problem with that?"

"Uh," he mumbles. "Give me a sec."

He turns back to Jaemin when he’s sure Jaehyun was out of vicinity, whispering against the phone. “I have to go to the supermarket.”

“I have a plan—“ Jaemin says back, and suddenly Jeno isn’t anywhere near ready for this. “Okay, so we can just go after school tomorrow, you know. ‘Cause I realized I’m actually too nice to skip classes. I just remembered we have a quiz on geometry, is what I’m saying. So maybe we can hitch a ride to the bus stop after classes, or something. And then we’ll see where we go from there! That good?”

“Wait,” he gulps. “I can borrow Mark’s car?”

“Even better if you do.” He beams. “Oh my God, we’re going in a _car?_ That’s an upgrade.”

“I _can_ drive, you know.” Jeno sniffs. “Besides—“

“Besides _what_ , Jeno? Now we’ve got a car to borrow, we’ve got money, I already packed my clothes yesterday night. It’s perfect.” 

“What I mean to say is— that you, uh. You make it seem like we’re running away or something.”

“Maybe,” he giggles. “Not exactly, but close enough. So. There’s that. _Toodles?”_

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, I guess.”

Jaemin doesn’t answer anymore, so Jeno sighs and looks up, seeing Jaehyun standing right across him now, car keys twirled in his hands.

“Ready to go?” Jaehyun asks while he heads for the door, looking back to face Jeno while he plops the cereal box somewhere on the counter before he puts on his tangerine flip-flops.

“Sure, whatever.” Jeno says, and then he walks out the door, down the curb and straight to Jaehyun’s car, not even looking at Jaehyun once.

 

The ride to the supermarket was dreadful, with a _2pac_ track blaring on the stereo while they coarse through the small road of their sunny neighborhood. The one thing Jaehyun might have been pretty shit at was starting up a decent conversation with Jeno. Jeno couldn’t blame him for that, knowing that practically anyone he’s ever crossed paths with didn’t know how to talk to him like they’re not scared that he might start elbowing them in the face for no reason. Except Jaehyun had little to no reason to be scared, which is why Jeno finds it weird that he _is_.

Jeno doesn’t know why he’s surprised that the walk from the parking lot to the entrance of the supermarket was just as dreadful, maybe even more devastating; Jaehyun can’t seem to decide on whether or not he wants to lean his arms on Jeno’s shoulder or walk slower so that they maintain at least a distance of 90-something feet between their bodies. Jeno shrugs it off and rears towards the pushcart section, turning back to face his brother in confusion when Jaehyun says, “No, I’ll do that.”

“Okay,” Jeno says, walking a little forward, thinking of following up with _whatever_. He’s being hostile, and there was no way he was going to give that up, whether or not there was a reason why he was acting like he held Jaehyun at gunpoint, one way or another. There was always the sense that he had to keep his guard up around Jaehyun, which he knows is dumb and uncalled for; but the barrier between them has been there for years and Jeno doesn’t know when or how to smash it all down, or if he’ll even have to.

“So,” Jaehyun gulps while he pushes the cart towards the grocery intersection, looking back. “Bro.”

“ _Bro_ ,” Jeno says back blankly, shifting around to grab two cans of tomato sauce from the shelves.

"Tell me about—yourself.”

Jeno coughs at the question. “Well, I’m still Jeno.”

“Ha-ha,” Jaehyun says. “I doubted that. For a second,”

“What?” He tilts his head, but Jaehyun doesn’t say it again.

“What about your life?" Jaehyun suggests, swerving the grocery cart to the junk food aisle. “Anything interesting you can care enough to share with your brother? The same one you haven’t seen in—like, nearly five months?”

"Uh. My life is... alright. Last night was alright. My band was alright. We're _all_ kind of alright..." He deadpans, grabbing a packet of _Lays_ and tossing it down the cart. "And I think I might drive off with Jaemin to the beach tomorrow."

Jaehyun pauses, surveying the color-coded lines of unhealthy portions of death in a packet. "You have a car?"

"I can borrow one.” He shrugs. “Mark's, or something."

"Money?"

"Sure." He shrugs. "Saved up a long time ago."

"Oh, well." He smiles. "I'm really hoping you guys have some fun."

He scoffs, finding something unfitting, unsettling and even a little fishy. "...You aren't going to ask why?"

Jaehyun turns to face him, three packs of Cheetos cradled in his arms. "Why _what_ , Jeno?"

He lifts his head to clarify. "Why I'm doing it. Why I'm going to the beach on such short notice. Or— why I'm going _with_ Jaemin, specifically."

"Hm," he ponders. _"Nope."_

That seems to make Jeno catch his breath. Or not. It seemed to do more than just that.

It takes Jeno off guard, like an unwelcomed surprise. When there’s nothing left to say, he finds himself nodding dumbfoundedly; like he didn't expect Jaehyun, of all people, to decide they weren't gaining anything from meddling with Jeno's life decisions.

Jaehyun seems to consider speaking, his lips parting, but instead he ruffles Jeno's hair. Jeno paces away at first, but ultimately lets Jaehyun go along with the brotherly gesture.

"You know,” Jaehyun starts, moving backward.  “I'll really miss you when I go. I can't say it's the same for you, because— man, I don't know. I played out. You really grew up. I felt like half the time I wasn't even there to see that happen."

Jeno retorts snarkily. "It just goes to show I can do the growing up shit on my own."

"You sound like you hate me," Jeno sneers at that, sad at the fact that he sounded just as confused as Jaemin was when he said the same words last night.

"I don't hate you." He says. "I just hate it when people start thinking I want to be you, or that I should be you, and when they think that, they think I hate you, which is why you think I hate you. _Okay,_ that was confusing-"

"No, no. It's fine! I got your point," Jaehyun laughs. "Go on."

"I don't want that— I don't. I don't like mom and dad thinking all I'll ever do is fuck my life up because I was born after a god like you. I just don't like thinking your life is so damn big that mine can hide behind it."

"Well I don't want that, you know? I don't want you to think that. Christ, I never meant to overshadow anyone because everyone sells me off like I'm Mother Mary and James Dean's lovechild... or whatever. I just want to live my life and feel like being happy is a choice and not a standard."

"That's what happens when you're perfect." Jeno deadpans. "You have your life, your wife and your kids and your future and then everything else set out for you. You know, when you're like that, happiness isn't even a standard; it's just something you have to get used to. _Fuck_ —I mean, you don't even see how lucky you are."

“I’m lucky?” Jaehyun snorts, makes a funny sound in his throat that Jeno can’t make out that well. “Holy _smokes_. So I’m lucky, and I’m happy, because I’m special? Well, I’m not. I’m _fucking_ lonely, Jeno.”

“Put yourself in my damn shoes.” He snaps back. “You don’t know what lonely is even if it shot you straight across your head more than once. It’d probably—like, feel like nothing to you anyway. I swear to God. You don’t know what lonely is. You don’t know how fucking miserable it is unless you’re me, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun quakes over, one hand resting on the shelf behind him while the other flies to his face to palm it. “Maybe I do!”

Jeno scoffs then. “As if anyone believes that,”

“You don’t know how hard it is to be me.” Jaehyun says.

“But I know exactly how hard it is not to be you.” Jeno says. “You make me so unsure of myself, Jaehyun.”

"Yeah, and because I'm perfect like that, I can't want things differently?" Jeno shuts up at that, grief and stunted realization clouding his brain in gradual heaps. "Because I'm perfect I always have to be happy with where I am? It doesn't always work that way, Jeno. Sometimes I just want things to not be so grand, or my life to not be so damn squeaky. Sometimes I just want my brother to think I'm someone he can rely on and not someone he has to avoid. Sometimes that's all I could ever want."

Jeno feels like someone swatted him on the forehead with a baseball bat then, and then he feels like all he could do is stare, hoping one look could mean he didn’t have to move or say a single thing anymore. There he goes again, stuck in the midst of another life-changing revelation— another means of the universe that was there to prove to him that he’s always going to be wrong about something, that he’s always wrong about everything. That it’s always going to be that way.

“Shit,” Jeno hisses, looking down at his own feet, avoiding Jaehyun’s gaze. “…I’m a big dork. Sorry.”

“No. Jeno, I am.” Jaehyun says, shaking his head. Jeno finds himself looking up now, thinking, _this is new._ Jaehyun shrugs and breathes out before speaking again, blandly saying, “You can’t help it.”

Jeno blinks twice then, an apologetic arm sliding down his chest instinctively, although he isn’t sure what he’s feeling pitiful for. “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”

“I’m trying to tell you that we’re in this together.” Jaehyun says back, and Jeno huffs again, like he’s only finding out about being in _this_ with anyone, like he didn’t really deserve to have that. “You know. It’s not Jaehyun, the successful son and Jeno, the son who miraculously hasn’t killed himself yet. It’s supposed to be Jaehyun _and_ Jeno. Two sons who made it, who’ll make it, even after everything.”

There’s a brief moment where Jeno thinks of saying he loves his brother, but then he thinks he’s not young anymore for that; but then—again, he doesn’t see why he could be old enough not to say it.

He doesn’t, anyway. All he does is grin, punch his brother on the shoulder like how he’d always wanted to do when he was nine and smaller and didn’t know better. Jaehyun smiles back, pats him on his head like they were never worlds apart, like they were somehow kids again, playing with plastic soldiers while they lay on the sandbox in the backyard, like they were never something far away from that.

It makes him think that Jaehyun isn't really so bad like he always had been in Jeno’s head. The stifling weight of having to think he was someone he couldn’t trust was all but gone now. Almost like it was never there.

“I feel like this calls for a hug,” Jaehyun coughs out, letting his arms fall against the handle of the push cart. “I think.”

“Nah,” Jeno shakes his head and makes out a small grin. “We’re good.”

“We’re good?” Jaehyun laughs. “Okay. Then that’s good.”

 _Good_ , Jeno thinks. _Good._ Right now, things were getting good. _Good_ — in a way that it hasn’t been before. It’s in his mind on the drive home, paper bags of bread and fruits perched stiffly on his lap; in his mind when he goes to the kitchen to help his mother arrange the groceries on the shelves, or when he’s playing a video game with Jaehyun while they lay on the crusty carpet in the living room, and even when it’s a little past 5:45 and he’s in his room, writing about it, and then writing about Jaemin, and then smiling.

He writes it on his notebook, on his wrist, for some reason, prickly blue ink seeping on the skin between his fingers:

_Good. Not great. But good._

 

Pretty early in the night, no less than five minutes before dinner, Jeno lingers on the bottom of the stairwell and decides he should go ahead and contact Mark; the opening lines to his landline call being _"Car. I need your car."_

"Uh, man. Do you even drive?" Mark pauses, his voice in whisper-volume. "You mean-"

"Yes, your _beautiful_ second-hand 1996 Toyota Tacoma in the color beige, dude. Sorry it's on such short notice. I just really, really need it tomorrow."

"Chill out, homie." He cackles. "What's so urgent you can't tell me?"

"Well, I suppose I _can_ tell you." He sighs. "Jaemin wants to go to the beach after school. If we drive by 3 we're going to get there before 5, but, you know— not if we don't have a car. Your car, specifically."

“Can’t you borrow someone else’s?”

“What?”

“It’s just— well, I have my reasons.” Mark says, and Jeno finds it in himself to laugh in disbelief.

“Do you want me to have it or not?”

“I do, but, okay. Not if it’s with Jaemin.” He says, sending Jeno into a fit of confusion. “Look—that guy’s like a minx. He’s just freaky.”

“What? A minx? Do you think we _even_ have sex?” Jeno laughs. “He’s not freaky. He’s my _boyfriend_.”

“Which proves my point. It’s exactly why he’s freaky.”

“Fuck you, dude.” Jeno hisses. “Just this once. I promise you it’s going to come back looking like the Lamborghini Jesus showered it with its healthy, prominent blessing.”

“What the fuck is a Lamborghini Jesus?” Now Mark’s the one who’s confused. “Okay, whatever. It better be looking like _that_. Whatever that is.”

They decide on ending the call after talking a little about the events of last night; Mark tells him the story of how he’d ended the night with _a celebration, it’s kind of weirdly unhealthy I think, but it’s okay_ , that celebration being treating himself to three boxes of pizza, two tubs of mint chocolate ice cream and a gallon and a half of Dr. Pepper while he watched Toy Story. Jeno laughs with him in earnest, wishing he’d been there to chow down on all of that, too.  Shockingly enough, Mark asks him how things went with Jaemin after Jeno chased for him on the parking lot, and Jeno stops short of admitting that they’ve just had a sloppy make-out session on the Na’s couch in fear of sending Mark into a fit of massive disgust. Mark might have gotten a sense of this, more or less, because thirty seconds before they end the call he pauses before he says, “I feel like you’re not telling me something.”

“It’s private,” is all Jeno says, making Mark whistle and clap on the other line.

“It’s _private?_ Oh, wow.” Mark laughs. “Let me guess,”

“No guesses. Nope, you’re not allowed to do me dirty like that—” Jeno says back, knowing Mark’s just _that_ good at hunches to be trusted in any way with them.

“You were on the couch, maybe—”

“Mark—“

“—and you were probably swapping spit or something—“

“—did you hire a fucking spy to follow me?”

“But then,”

“Please stop.” Jeno sighs, threatening to end the call.  

“Jeno—“

“I’m going to smash your car.” Jeno says, voice laced with welcomed irritation. “I’m going to fucking have it towed to the slums so they can have it burned to a crisp in the goddamn dumpster.

“But am I _wrong_ , buddy?” Mark chuckles. “Say it! Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Mark Lee. God damn you.” He rolls his eyes, laughing gravely before he puts the phone down.

Dinner had been _slightly_ tolerable that night, and he can’t thank Jaehyun for being there enough, even though all he’d done was sit from across Jeno while he feasted after their meal of Beef Stew and Fried Chicken. Jeno doesn’t feel particularly invisible, and feels like maybe he’s part of the family he’s settled on the table with right now. The thought of that doesn’t do much to get him through the dread of being asked about last night, but it’s relieving enough to warm his heart.

He sees Jaehyun off when the clock strikes 8p.m., standing and trembling under his sweatshirt while his bare feet tap down on the briskly asphalt. His mom inches close to peck a kiss on Jaehyun’s cheek, while his dad leans in to offer him a fatherly pat to his shoulder.

“What about you?” Jaehyun says, looking straight at Jeno when he shrugs.

“What about me?” Jeno chuckles, and then instinctively flinches when Jaehyun engulfs him in a brotherly hug, and he falters for a moment—Jaehyun felt warm and honest despite his shivering, the arms he’s had wrapped on Jeno’s torso too shifty for either of their amusement, and it’s when Jeno realizes that he might have been trembling for an entirely different reason.

“Bye, you guys. I’ll be back soon,” is the last thing Jaehyun says, knowing that none of them know when he’ll ever be back, if it’s _soon_ , or if it’ll take too long that the prospect of that would be unanticipated enough to be naturally avoided.

Jeno didn’t think he’d ever live to see a day where he’s sure enough that he’ll miss Jaehyun, but that’s exactly why his life is full of surprises. He walks up the curb and feels like time might’ve stopped, ticking slower when he gets to his room and sees everything the exact way it had been when he was still seven years old; trying his best to sleep without the nightlight on, thinking the monster hiding under his bed is going to capture him, and it’s Jaehyun who’s there to save him—Jaehyun who’s there to tell him it’s okay to close his eyes now. He’s going back through time and he’s anxious, and he can’t believe he didn’t spend enough time missing the feeling of having all of that like he didn’t take it for granted.

 _Good, not great, but good. But Jaehyun was gone, and he’ll be gone again._ Jeno spends the rest of the night lying down on his bed and thinking about that, wishing he could tell someone like Jaemin about it—like the realization of it wasn’t something he could just keep to himself like every other thing he’d kept to himself.

 

He doesn’t know how he managed to sleep the thought of that away, but he’s glad he did, because now he’ll have to spend all morning thinking about Jaemin like it’s programmed for him to do so. Maybe it is, because the first thing that crashes against his mind when he sits up to yawn and stretch his body to wake is _Jaemin. Beach. Probably some sex. Okay. We’re going to fucking do this._

His walk to school was nightmarish, if not for the doubling amount of people greeting him on the halls like they actually knew him _way_ before the events of Saturday night. He hesitates to greet back every time, and wishes all of them were actually genuinely interested in his goals rather than trying to be friends with him so he can let them tag around when he actually achieves them. The guy who uses the locker beside his own greets him a little less forced and boorish than usual—even manages to flash him a smile when he waves goodbye. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to any of it now, or ever, really.

Jeno grins a little when he opens his locker to find a note from Jaemin slipped between his textbooks. There’s one written on a teared notebook’s paper, with the words _you’re all I could think of_ scribbled on it with a red pen. There’s another one, pinned with a bobby pin on a grainy magazine cut-out of the sunset by the beach, saying, _I’ll see you later._ He looks down, looks around, and when he’s sure that no one’s looking back at him, he plants a soft kiss on the note, smiling again before he closes the locker to head to his morning classes.

School, for Jeno, seems normally unbearable, and right now he couldn’t agree on that more. He’s sitting through Literature with his head tucked between his elbows, sighing in annoyance in an amount of time that seemed to stretch out for more than countless of decades. He’s sure his teacher’s probably caught on to his tardiness by now, and for a lot of reasons, he’s glad that they’re old and they’re not really doing anything about it.

When he walks idly out of his first three lectures, he spots Mark on the corridor and calls for him abruptly. Mark seems alarmed, stopping in his tracks and signaling, waving to Jeno like he was in a rush.

“Be at the parking lot after classes. I’ll give you the keys later,” is all he says, and it takes Jeno a second to realize what he meant. Jeno nods back at him in understanding, turning away and making a beeline as he heads for his next class of the day before lunchtime.

After a few more hours spent in loathing, Jeno starts sprinting for his locker a second after the school bell rings, jamming his textbooks back in and pulling all of the shit he packed out and into his backpack. He might have brought too much for the occasion, which was completely acceptable, considering that Jaemin might have packed a shit ton more of extra luggage than Jeno could ever. He sneaks out and runs for the parking lot, spotting twice the amount of people he expected to see waiting for him there. It makes him a little queasy.

Jaemin is, _of course_ , there, and he’s shaking in glee— starts to bounce enthusiastically when Jeno begins to walk over despite all of his piling sighs of nervousness. Jeno manages a small smile and a chuckle that somehow gets stuck in his throat, coming out as more of a gravelly hurl instead. It's when Mark finally blesses him with the provision of his fuzzy, orange-scented car keys, pleading, _scratch it, run some random guy over with it, go berserk down a cliff on it, just— for the love of God, don't have sex on it, please?_ and at that, Jeno fails to keep in a laugh and makes no absolute promises. (It’s not like he won’t try to keep it, though.)

The parking lot was fucking melodrama central then, mixtape over greeting card over mixtape stashing on the dashboard from everyone who wanted to see them off, which was admittedly not a lot of people, just Yukhei and Hyuck and Renjun. They're there, too, in the school's run-down parking lot with all the other cars and people that have already gone, waving and mock-crying to make it seem like Jeno and Jaemin were never actually coming back—but then Jeno realizes Hyuck had actually really been all-out sobbing.

“Why’s that twit crying for real?” Yukhei points at Hyuck, eyebrows raised. “Did someone fucking die?”

"I'm just so proud of you guys," Hyuck whines back, to which Yukhei responds obliviously with: "Wait, shit. Are Jeno and Jaemin—are they _together_ or something?! What. _Holy_ \- holy fuck-"

Yukhei, aside from a few sincere laughs and a punch to the shoulder from Renjun, never got any coherent answer. Jeno finds himself thinking, _the poor thing he is._

By 3p.m. on that same warm, clear-skied Monday, with Jeno driving down the school's intersection and straight to the freeway, they were off.

Jaemin, without much hesitation, leans his head on Jeno’s shoulder as he drives, humming against the blaring tune of the afternoon news segment on the radio, hands on Jeno’s arms. Jeno rolls down the windows and swoons, peeking out to the road and whistling while Jaemin keeps him close by their now twined fingers, laughing breathlessly along with him. They decide to turn off the radio, with Jeno jamming indecisively to one of Jaemin’s favorite Simon and Garfunkel songs that he can only pick up a quarter of the lyrics to.

Jaemin grins at this in earnest, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and saying, “I love it when you do that.”

“Do what?” Jeno asks.

“You know what I mean,” Jaemin shrugs, smiles again. “Keep up with me.”

“Glad to know we both thrive on that, then.” He says, and Jaemin laughs—laughs like he just wants to laugh again; laughs the way Jeno loves it, the way Jeno keeps up with it.

Except now, Jeno hadn't anticipated this at all; 30 minutes into their drive and, of course, there was traffic. Just heaps and heaps of car pollution, angry drivers, sleeping drivers, crying-in-the-car drivers, and then just some more traffic. From the looks of it, the line of vehicles stretch vastly out until the nearest tollgate, which isn't even in sight until a quarter of an hour later. He leans back forcefully onto his seat with a huff, wishing he could command the cars out of the way with just a snap of his finger, but Jaemin doesn't seem to mind the delay. His patience lasts, which is amazing; but astounding as that was, it was only for a little while.

"Turn up the radio. At least we've got some music to get us by, right?" Jaemin says then, eyes half-lidded while he starts crossing his arms against his chest, leaning away.

"That reminds me," Jeno shifts up, lifting one of the mixtapes on the dashboard. "We should listen to one of these."

"Yeah, mixtapes—  _cassettes_." Jaemin cooes. "God, it must've taken them hours... they really didn't have to go through all of that effort for a 2-hour trip. It's not like we're running away."

"Be happy. At least they even found the time of day to think about us." Jeno snickers. "I bet Hyuck's is just Toto's _Africa_ repeated over and over again."

"I want to listen to Renjun's," Jaemin replies, leaning his arm on the dashboard to grab it from Jeno's hold. He slides the cassette on the tape deck of the car's player, looking at Jeno when the first song that plays proves to be unfamiliar.

"I think this is The Beach Boys." Jeno laughs, his brows furrowing. "Do you know them?"

"I think I do." Jaemin nods. "What's this song?"

"Don't think I've heard it. Sounds like the Beach Boys though..."

"Wait! That's us!" He beams. "We're the beach boys— or, the _going to the beach boys_." He laughs, his voice clear, and as childishly straightforward as it sounded Jeno kind of found that amusing.

By the end, the song cuts short. Somehow, even in the midst of their drive it still catches their attention; but what comes right after proves to be just as surprising, if not more. There's a voice that echoes all throughout the car, blaring through the quiet and even through the noise of the traffic outside, muttering something along the lines of: " _Yukhei! You clicked pause!"_

"Oh, shit." Jaemin cackles. "Is that Renjun?"

_"I didn't! I don't know how to use these things-"_

"That's Yukhei." Jeno mutters, shocked. "Yeah. Shit. That's definitely him."

Yukhei-in-the-tape continues, his voice a whole fifty decibels louder than Renjun's, naturally as it should be with everyone else. _"I'm freaking out. Did I just fuck it up? What do I do? Do I scream into the recorder? God, we aren't even working on my tape yet-"_

 _"Okay, calm down or I'm throwing you off a building, Christ. Look, you just pop the tape deck open... then take one of these pencils and then wind up the-_ " the audio glitches then, seconds before it cuts off, transporting them to the next song on the mixtape (which Jeno automatically assumes is a Björk song right off the bat). He's still reeling from that recording, his brows raised high and his mouth pinched in confusion.

"That was. Wow. Unexpected." Jeno sighs, whistling against the window. By then, Jaemin had completely paused the tape to bask in the current silence, shocked but not really.

"Did they just..?" Jaemin is facing Jeno now, his eyes blown wide. "I didn't know _David_ and _Goliath_ were super best buddies now. What is happening to the world?"

"You think they made their tapes together?"

"I don't know?" Jaemin says, chuckling now. "I... don't know."

"Okay." He says, sighing. "We don't have to know."

"We don't have to know..." Jaemin repeats, heaving before clapping his hands together once. _"Well."_

Jeno huffs, his mind shuffling. He's surely a little jumbled. He grabs Hyuck's mixtape from the dashboard and holds it up, saying "Let's just listen to this one." to which Jaemin responds with an awkward nod.

Hyuck's cassette has a letter taped to it, with the words _I made you dicks a mixtape with my dad's old engagement playlist, because I had nowhere else to record it on. Disadvantage:_ _My parents are killing me for this. Advantage: Donghyuck and his holier-than-thou music tastes. Don't forget the souvenirs. Love you!_ written on it with a purple gel marker, hearts instead of dots on top of his _I's_. His theory about Hyuck's mixtape being a Toto song on repeat was proven wrong, because upon listening he learns that there is one Carpenters' song, one Peter, Paul and Mary song, and then the rest of the tape had just been Britney Spears' _Baby One More Time_ uncautiously played on repeat for a whole twenty minutes, which honestly Jeno finds more endearing and motive-laced than hilarious, unlike Jaemin, who'd been laughing for the whole duration of that loop for no apparent reason.

They're still on the road when the clock strikes 6, the sun starting to set, coating their surroundings with a hue of orange-purple film. At this, Jaemin internally panics, afraid that he won't be able to make the most out of the trip if they were both going to barely make it there with the cicadas humming, the city lights all on and the sky darker than _their own future_ , as Jaemin says for daunting reference.

"I don't think we should go on." Jeno says when he realizes this, drowsy from consistently keeping his eyes on the long road.

"No, I still want to go." Jaemin pleads, still a little awake. "Just a little more, Jeno."

Soon enough, Jeno learns he really can't say no to that. As far as he knows, he never could. Not if it’s with Jaemin. He only clears his throat for a second, looking at Jaemin and then looking back out to the road, not missing the small sound Jaemin makes when he smiles. To Jeno, that was everything; more than enough to keep his hands on the wheel until they get somewhere, elsewhere, even if it was a million miles away.

Jeno didn’t think they’d make it fast enough, but they get there at exactly 6:43 in the evening. As soon as Jeno parks Mark’s car steadily on the sand floor, Jaemin makes a run for it. He scrambles out of the car door and sprints for the shore, heaving and shouting in relief when he gets there. Jeno follows him shortly after, gulping— placing a hand on Jaemin’s shoulder when they stare out and take in the sight of the roomy ocean, dim and lifeless in comparison to the rowdiness of early night life, the bars and the clubs and the establishments churning out some loud music and blurring the lights and everything else together from not too far away.

"This is wonderful.” Jaemin says, eyes gleaming, underlying non-enthusiasm in his tone. It was a dead giveaway of the fact that he didn't really think it was wonderful at all, not even in the least bit.

"Are you fooling me or _are_ you fooling yourself?" Jeno sneers, not buying it. "There's nothing to see in the beach at 7 in the evening.'

Jaemin pouts and looks back out, sighing silently against the sound of the waves crashing against the sand. "You're just not looking,"

'Not looking?" He chuckles. "The sky gets as dark as my dad's ass crack at this time of the night. Your point being?"

Jaemin rolls his eyes. "Okay, what's your genius solution, then, _sir_ Jeno? Do you want me to pray to God with my hands clasped while I'm on my knees to light the path?"

"No," he shuffles. "But there's a night club over there, which is just right up my alley."

"Wait. Are you serious?" He sulks.

“I mean,” Jeno clears his throat. “It’s tempting.”

Jaemin crinkles his nose, brows curling together. "I don't even think we're old enough to--"

"Old enough, my ass." Jeno says. "We're just going to have-"

"Do you want to kill me?" Jaemin asks stiffly. "Are you fine with that? You want me to have a fucking psychosomatic seizure under some neon-lit dance floor? I don't."

"Jaem, look. It's not going to be that bad. We drove out to the beach _tonight_. You ditched your fucking tutoring sessions _tonight._ What's more, if we're jizzed enough, you're going to lose your fucking virginity _tonight._ We're already working towards that. When you think about it, it's not a big deal. We're just going inside, to drink a little, dance a little if we feel like it. What do you have to lose, I mean, besides your virginity?"

"My dignity, probably." He says. "You don't know me when I'm drunk, Jeno. _I_ don't know me when I'm drunk."

"Well then don't drink enough to get drunk." Jeno assures him, grinning to add a short dazzle of relief. “It’s not going to be as bad as you think it is. I promise—“

As soon as he says that, Jaemin starts to freak out. It’s the kind where he doesn’t say it out loud, the kind that reflects more on his (very badly concealed) actions; fingers shaking, unsteady breaths, knees wobbling around—caving in. Jeno feels it all while he holds Jaemin’s hands soothingly, hoping to provide even a sliver of comfort, but it only makes Jaemin more nervous the moment they pull themselves out of the cold, sandy, barren night and into the pinkish-purple heat of the club and its dance floor. Jeno leads Jaemin by his fingers to the bar counter on the far end of the establishment, hoping Jaemin would be less shaken in the presence of mixed, completely anonymous company. Of course, he should’ve known it wouldn’t work. He sighs and thinks, maybe: _It was worth the try._

"This is a bad idea." Jaemin points that very obvious fact out now while he shakes his head, his fingers tapping nervously on the counter-top. "This is such a bad idea, Jeno. You know, I could get killed for this— my mom could be right outside, with my tutor or something, and they're going to be like _do your fucking Calculus homework, you insubordinate twit, or you'll lose your chance at a good future, or even any future_ -"

"Okay, calm down.” Jeno says softly. “Just tell me what you want. You want a fucking milkshake? Or, like. Vodka? Whiskey-"

"Beer." Jaemin coughs.

Jeno squints then, pouting. "Why not Vodka?"

"Do you think I know what that is?"

Jeno’s pretty sure he’s made a fair point, so he drops it and orders a mug of beer for Jaemin, ordering two of the same thing for himself when Jaemin looks at him in a way that’s equal parts petty, helpless and suspicious. Jeno keeps a close eye on him then, but not close enough, because he knows Jaemin might need to let all of this sink in on his own—which is something that totally backfires, much to his own surprise.

Two beers later and Jaemin _swoons_ , head thrown back, his face beet red when he's standing up and nudging Jeno for no reason; for all he knows, that was an invitation to dance, and no matter how much he didn't want Jaemin to embarrass himself, he lets him go on his own. Jaemin sulks at him for this, but doesn't back down from his own ridiculous idea, shyly sauntering to the middle of the club with his head bobbing back and forward to the rhythm.

Forty minutes after that conversation and Jaemin practically tackles and mounts him with the fact that he's a grand— no, euphoric— no, _godly—_  force on the dance floor. He didn't have to worry about Jaemin embarrassing himself now; in fact, that was quite honestly too far from the real case. The _real case_ being everything he didn't expect to happen when he walked in through those club doors with a terrified Jaemin, who was now, no more than two beers in and a quarter of an hour later, piss-drunk, probably ascending to the heavens and enjoying himself more than anyone else in their vicinity.

By that point, Jaemin had three of the buttons in his blouse flung open all while he swayed his hips to the wild tune, his hair bouncing and his mouth parted, hands roaming his own body. Jeno doesn't think he's ever seen him like this. _It's the alcohol,_ Jeno thinks, but what dumbass would get drunk off of beer, or a mere two mugs of it, for that matter? This wasn't alcohol; _nothing_ like alcohol. This was mindless, wasted, enrapturing, inhibition-free, eyes-on-him dancing. This was Jaemin, and right now he was fucking out of this world, everyone who had their eyes on him either flung out into space or effortlessly dragged into his own orbit.

He won't take his eyes off of him, and then soon enough he'll learn that he _can't_. At first it just seemed like it was nothing more than an aftershock, a lasting effect of his worry; much like he had to stand guard, like he had to shoo away anyone who came near Jaemin while he was making the most of the night, too far down his own bubble to mind everything else. With time, Jeno's assumption proved to be wrong, because by then he knew he was staring for an entirely different reason.

Jaemin was endlessly beautiful, glowing under the neon hues of icy, electric blue and bouncy purple with his seemingly undying supply of energy. He's shouting out the lyrics to the song; New Order's _Bizarre Love Triangle_ , and although he's hopelessly off key Jeno finds it very enticing. He eyes the sweat dripping straight from Jaemin's temple, trickling down his cheeks and outlining his jaw, trailing to his already exposed collarbone, and if Jeno dared himself to look even more, _lower._ He felt beer-drool pooling on the sides of his lips and a pang in his heart, shooting straight down his chest, his stomach, and then ultimately, inevitably _somewhere else-_

" _Mr. Fancy Pants_ ,"

"What?"

He shuffles out of his thoughts, looking beside him in search for the voice— only to find an unfamiliar man seated on the bar stool next to him, with pink and orange glitter under his eyes and even some on his frizzy hair.

"Did I get that right?" Said man snickers, his hands flying up to shush Jeno. "Oh, wait, I got it. _College Burn-out_."

"I'm not even in college yet." He laughs.

" _Goody two-shoes_?"

"Would I be in a club if I were?"

"Hm. _Superman_."

"Pretty close."

" _Elvis Depressedly?"_

"I— no, man. Okay." He grins. "I'm just.. _. average guy who's here with his friend_."

"Yangyang." He holds his hand out. "I'm also _average guy who's here with his friend._ What are the odds?"

"You don't look average to me." He shrugs, shaking Yangyang's hand. "My name's Jeno."

"Let me guess, you're here with _Mr. Prettiest Boy in the Dance Floor?_ "

"Yeah. That's... his name's Jaemin," He nods and looks ahead, an evolving heat running through his cheeks as he eyes Jaemin in the middle of the dance floor, now hazily dancing to The Cardigans' _Lovefool_.

"He's lovely." Yangyang comments. "Is it fine for me to say that?"

"Oh?" He double-takes, shocked at the thought that there was another possibly gay guy in his life, right now, gleaming in front of him. "Yeah, it's cool. You're right, but he's no less of a pretty boy than he is a very drunk boy."

"I don't see you guys from around here." Yangyang ponders, leaning against the counter while he looks at Jeno.

"Yeah. That's because we're not really from here." He says. "It's just— pressure, _stress_ , maybe. The day was young. Thought it'd be good to drive off to the beach to let ourselves live a little."

"Jesus, on a school night?" He snickers. "How reckless can you city kids get?"

"I say... pretty reckless. And that's funny, dude. We're not from the city— _really_ , just from a small town about two hours away. I think-- I have a band, and we get an urge to do this shit a lot, so maybe that contributes to the, uh— _spontaneous impulse?"_

"A band, huh? Cool. Tell me about your band." He says, nodding his head a little.

"We play rock." He gulps. "And we have fun. And we'll make it big and famous, for sure."

"Anything else?"

"Nope." He says. "Those are... most definitely the only things you need to know."

"Well, I'm looking forward to seeing you on the big screen, hopefully for all the good reasons." He beams, leaning towards Jeno to pat him on the shoulder, but not until Jaemin all of a sudden nudges himself between them, knocking his arms on the counter and peering down on Jeno. He turns away, giving Yangyang a once over as if he was sober enough to recall him from anywhere.

"Hi," Jaemin says, waving his hand. " _Random stranger,_ Jeno. Jeno. Can you— get me some more of that stuff?"

"What, beer?" He shakes, facing Yangyang when Jaemin practically throws himself at him, running his fingers through Jeno's hair. "Jesus, do they put a little crack in the beer or is Jaemin just a lightweight?"

Yangyang only laughs at that, not able to sneak in a response when Jaemin shoots up to usher Jeno, seemingly forgetting his demand to get a beer refill when he stands up hastily, yanking Jeno into the fray.

"I know you say you never dance," Jaemin says, leading him by his arms to some spacious area in the dance floor. "But _fuh_ -fuck that right now. I don't care."

Jeno takes a short breather to lean back despite Jaemin’s insistence, trying to keep track of the song playing around them. It was a fast song, something he’s sure he’s heard in Yukhei’s backyard when they’d listen to some; probably the Dexys Midnight Runners. He rears in and asks Jaemin, “Do you know this song?”

“I don’t— uh, okay? Just. Fucking—dance. _Fucking_ dance, Jeno.” Jaemin seems too lost to care about anything, inebriation reigning against sobriety, laughing like a maniac at nothing in particular. His hands hover up while he shakes and pounces, and he turns in circles so that half the time he was shaking his ass at the general population and half the time he was rubbing and grinding it against Jeno’s thigh. Jeno normally loathed dancing, although right now he ended up actually having fun, laughing just as loud and hard as Jaemin while he twirls him around until he falls against Jeno’s chest for some leverage.

Jeno was almost thankful when a slow song came up, having been worked into an unwelcomed fit of sweat for the last two or so songs. Jaemin falls onto him with a tired whimper, and Jeno doesn’t do much but hug him close, swaying gently with him while Sixpence None the Richer’s _Kiss Me_ plays all across the club’s speakers. He tips his chin up, slides his hand on Jaemin’s waist, pushes up under his blouse to stroke his sweat-slick skin, which Jaemin temptingly welcomes.

“Jeno?” Jaemin says, leaning up to whisper Jeno’s name into his ear like it was their secret.

“Hm?” Jeno tilts and hunches, pressing his forehead to Jaemin’s.

“I think—I need you to—like, _do_ me.” Jeno nearly sputters at that, abruptly checking behind him to see if anyone might have heard.

‘Now?” He whispers.

“I think— yeah,  _now._ I just—“ He shrugs. “I need to go,”

"Yeah, okay. Let's go." He says, grabbing for Jaemin’s hand in his weirdly contented stupor. "We can go," and with that, he hovers out of the dance floor, holding Jaemin near.

He looks back out to the crowd in search for Yangyang, spotting him on the farthest nook of the bar counter. Jeno shouts his name out, hoping he can hear it amidst the loud music, and when Yangyang does he tips his head and smiles in recognition. On Jeno's way out, he grins, knowing it was their telepathically negotiated promise to see each other again someday.

Jeno feels like their walk to some dingy motel across the beach was a sudden-death challenge. Jaemin only makes it harder for them to head out securely and safely, stumbling and clinging to him while they walked, licking the shell of his ear while he whispered sweet nothings that Jeno was unfortunately too preoccupied with guiding him to hear.

“Jeno—“ Jaemin says then, pouting a little. “I don’t think I can take this anymore.”

“Jesus fuck, can you _wait?”_ He asks heatedly, although that wasn’t what he’d meant to say. If anything, he needed the disruption, needed to reorient himself after realizing how terrifying love-making must be, and how he’s _this_ damn close to doing it with the man of his dreams. He’s stopped in his tracks with a flashy ding on his head when he thinks of how Mark’s car had just been _there,_ brightly convenient, and when he thinks about it, he doesn’t think his persisting erection can even _handle_ the walk to the motel.

As if right on cue, Jaemin realizes this, pointing at Mark’s car and saying, “ _There_. Problem solved.”

“Don’t even think about it,” He says, although he’s already walking there, his sneaker-clad feet rising and burying itself on the sand while he does so. The sound of the shore gets nearer and nearer, and before he knew it Jaemin was already clambering up the trunk of Mark’s pick-up, holding his hand out for Jeno to grab, like his mind had suddenly cleared.

Jeno signals him to wait for a moment, shuffling for the keys to grab his dad’s greasy blanket that he’d hastily stored in the backseat. He slams the car door close and saunters over to Jaemin, heaving himself up the truck and laying the blanket flat against their surface, laughing when Jaemin lays on it, posing awkwardly yet seductively, his brow raised and his lips inched forward to form a very unfitting smolder.

"Mark said we can't have sex in his car." Jeno says, although now he’s sure he isn't so adamant in keeping that promise, anyway.

'We should be glad he owns a pick-up.” Jaemin sputters out, laughing. “We're not exactly _in_ his car, aren't we?"

Jeno rolls his eyes. “You should know I’m risking my life for this.”

“Oh, _please!_ Don’t die on me, mister Jeno. Your boner’s probably just sucking the life out of you.” Jaemin jokes, and then giggles. “It _shows._ ”

He coughs then, shuffling closer to Jaemin, cupping his face and gulping dryly. "...What should I do?"

"Touch me like you did the other night." He whimpers. "Or, like. Yeah. Just touch me. _Please_."

Jeno lets out a heavy laugh, planting soft kisses on the nook of Jaemin’s neck while he takes his time to unbutton what’s left that’s still buttoned on Jaemin’s flimsy blouse. “Do you know that Mark calls you a minx?” He says, hoping it helps to dissipate the tension of their first time.

“He’s right. Maybe.” Jaemin chuckles, shrugs incredulously. He starts clambering up, arching his back to wrap his arms on Jeno’s neck, his elbows framing Jeno’s face. “We’re just finding out.”

They kiss like they’re unsure, and it makes Jeno feel insane, even when he groans and grabs Jaemin’s legs to let them hoist and flail around his waist. Jaemin moans and melts into him, snapping his hips forward and blushing when he feels Jeno’s hard dick through his jeans, pressed flush against his own. “Jesus, fuck.” Jaemin whispers, saying this against Jeno’s mouth when they pull apart to take in some fresh air. While Jeno feels like he could be on the brink of losing his mind, he draws closer, kissing Jaemin’s throat, his teeth barely grazing on the skin there. Jaemin whimpers and feels like he might let him, because there’s nothing else he could want right now more than being devoured entirely, his muscles growing lax when Jeno squeezes his ass with both hands.

"God, it's not enough." Jaemin whines, almost crying. "I need you inside me. I need it, God. I'll die if you don't make love to me now, Lee Jeno. I'll _fucking_ die-"

“Jaemin, oh my God, _wait_ ,” Jeno dithers for a moment; it occurred to him a little shockingly that this was the first time Jaemin's ever begged him for anything. That had sure as shit never happened before. At least, for all he knows, never like _this_.

Jaemin pants against him when they pause, biting against his lip hard; he was staring up at him. Jeno’s heart hammers at the sight of Jaemin looking so debauched, his restraint even realer and more astounding from up this close. The only other time Jeno could have seen something like this so vividly was through his fantasies; he’s still in complete awe—not just at the fact that this was happening right now, but because of Jaemin—how he’d looked like that, all but pressing his hands tight together and crying, begging to be fucked.

Jeno decided he wanted that.

"Say please," Jeno says, already shifting up to pull himself free of his pants and boxers.

“Please.” Jaemin says back, brokenly, holding Jeno’s hand to press it flat against his own cheeks. “Please, Jeno— _please_ —“

It was slow going in, only a ready packet of sunscreen for lube, and with Jeno taking the process awfully, _tantalizingly_ slow in fear of hurting the boy underneath him that it took Jaemin nearly all the nerves in his body to force himself not to move by his own. They pause between every new touch to kiss, and Jeno only picks up the pace when Jaemin’s whimpers start bordering on needy, like he was holding himself back from begging Jeno for anything, like it was less like sex and more like a contest; which Jeno finds sort of adorable.

" _There,_ oh _God_." Jaemin winces, flinching against Jeno when he throws his head back and his heart pounds.

"Here?" Jeno pushes against him, hitting that spot once again and making Jaemin _scream,_ kicking the air with the leg that was least likely to come into contact with any part of Jeno.

"Fuck," Jaemin cries, shifts up to kiss him deeper. " _Yes. God, yes._ "

“I worry about you sometimes,” Jeno laughs, knowing he finds no better time to admit this, even if it’s jokingly; but Jaemin doesn’t look like he’s heard anything—just keeps moaning desperately, crying out in severed pleas, _yes_ and _more_ and _please_ and _harder_ and  _oh my fucking god Jeno_ that Jeno isn’t even sure how many times he’s said that now. He isn’t sure how many thrusts it’ll have to take even if they’re both already on the edge, but Jeno tries his best to fuck Jaemin through it, planting kisses on his lips sloppily and feeling his heart beat faster every single time Jaemin trembles and squeezes against him.

Jaemin comes with a heavy sob, eyes crinkling shut and mouth falling wide open. Jeno doesn’t miss a single frame of this—feels like he’s got the whole thing recorded in his mind, stored in a chest locked deep within his heart, the key hanging on his tongue, ready to be swallowed so no one can even come close to what he’ll have engraved in him for the rest of time. At the thought of this, he comes too, ready to pull away— but not until he feels Jaemin’s already weakened legs pressing around him by his waist, all but locking him in, which might have been the reason that he came harder than usual; with a bite to his inner cheek and a lousily held-back groan.

He pulls out slowly, shifting and huffing when his back lands on the trunk with a thud, his right arm sprawled lazily across Jaemin’s chest. They’re quiet and drained like that, for a few moments, and then Jaemin starts cooing, holding his hand out and pointing across the vast sky ahead of them.

"This is such an old dream," Jaemin moans, looking out through the night sky and marveling at the sight of it. "Driving up here with you, in some car, lying on your dad's sweaty old blanket after we have our very first time. Damn, I think— this feels so liberating."

“Uh,” Jeno is naturally at a loss for words, but when he finds something real enough to say, he doesn't hesitate. "Are you happy?"

"Hungry." Jaemin responds, quick. "A little sore, a little worried about driving first thing in the morning, a little tipsy, a little more in love with you, but _yes,_ I am happy."

"That's just good to know."

“Yeah,” Jaemin snickers, leaning against Jeno while he hums out the first lines of Pablo Neruda’s _Love, We’re Going Home Now_ very idly. Jeno huffs and twines their arms for a short moment, resting calmly on the warmth of Jaemin’s body while he slowly shuts his eyes. He can feel Jaemin staring at him now, his gaze burning against his right cheek and his temple, his mouth shifting while he inches closer.

"I don't want to forget any of this in the morning." Jaemin admits, a little muted, a little breathless.

"You're not— going to forget, okay?" Jeno explains, his head turning to face Jaemin. "Alcohol is just like that-- just makes you feel dizzy, sort of sentimental, and also like you're in another dimension-"

"No. I don't mean it like that." Jaemin says. "I mean it in, like, the same way I felt the first time you kissed me, two years ago. Or the same way you felt about your band after you played for the school last Saturday. Things like that. You know, like, when you feel like something's too good to be true that it's starts getting hard to believe you're worth something that massive. You start thinking someone's going to take that away from you. You start thinking you're going to wake up tomorrow, and you won't even know how life-changing the night before was. You start thinking that when you're, like, twenty-five or something, it just won't matter as much. But what if I don't want to forget anything, or if I still want to go back to those things when everyone else doesn't?"

"Then I'm right here.” Jeno says, kissing Jaemin’s hand, pressing each finger flush against his shivery lips, sure of the fact that he’s not going to make much sense very soon. “I’m right _here_.”

“Yeah,” Jaemin whispers again, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles and his joy-inducing laugh the only thing Jeno can make out despite the sound of the raging sea in the dead of night. He opens his mouth, wider this time, cupping Jeno’s cheeks when he says, _“Our lives return to the wall, to the rocks of the sea.”_

 _“Our kisses head back home where they belong.”_ Jeno says. He feels like Jaemin should be tired of chuckling now, but he does it again, louder and clearer, brushing Jeno’s hair back when he stares.

“I never knew that you knew that poem,” Jaemin says.

“I checked it out,” He says. “Spent two hours in the bookstore and in the library. Just trying to find it.”

“Really? That actually means a lot, but— wow.” He grins, blushing. “Who am I kidding? You’re Jeno. The sweetest guy I’ve ever known. _Of course_ you’d look for it.”

Jeno shrugs, dumbstruck for a moment.  There’s a nervous pause that holds him back before he gulps and asks, "What do I mean to you?" Like knowing the answer to that would save his life in some way. He never knows when or if it might.

"Oh, Jeno." He says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're worth more a thousand of anything to me. Worth more than a thousand high school rockstars, or a thousand gay, slightly nihilistic, depressively avoidant but cute neighbors-- heck, I think you're worth more than a thousand other _Jeno_ s to me. I'd just be in a room where they shove in all sorts of variations of guys named Jeno, guys who look like you, feel like you, smell like you and maybe even taste like you, and I'd be crying and bawling my eyes out until they brought _you_ in."

"When you say that I feel like I'm warping your sweetness," he looks away. "That's still something I'm afraid of, you know."

Jaemin only shakes his head with a smile, kissing Jeno, wanting him to _feel_ it. He knows Jaemin won't be able to say what he means without sobbing; won't be able to say _I'm fine where I am, and I'm fine with that, because there's nothing like this anywhere else._

_Nothing else like you and me._

Cold hands clasp tight against warm ones, silently meaningful. To Jeno, it becomes something that keeps him going; like one of those things in his life besides Jaemin's existence that will lead him to believe that one day, in the same year, maybe in a couple of decades, or in an alternate reality where he knew he would love this boy and no one else, they'd have their chance to live together. And maybe then, they're happy; maybe then they'll finally be alright.

Maybe, in that universe not so far away from reality, they'd have more than their fair share of lazy Sunday mornings, or serendipitous kisses with their mingling winter mint and coffee breath, kisses in the balcony with champagne-slobbered lips, fireworks blasting all around them, kisses after his concerts, after a nights-old worth of sweat and a hoarse throat, or kisses by the kitchen counter, beside the piling empty boxes of pancake and waffle mix.

Maybe they'd have their drunken nights and their jamming sessions and their band gigs and their road trips to the beach more often; or more of their candidly breathless, care-free admissions of all the things they've been scared of letting out and saying for so long; things like _I love you. You are so beautiful, so mine, and I'm so lucky to have you, so lucky to wake up next to you. I will follow you around the world a million times, whether or not it's what you need me to do, and I will never, ever, stop wanting you and loving you for the rest of my life._

 

Maybe then, they'll learn that what they had was never meant to feel perfect.

Right now, though, it felt like it was forever.

 

**END.**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLf7Ze1pJW2ZNaxLy78QJzZU7wT1BARsGD)  
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> kudos and comments are very very very appreciated :^) thanks so SO much to everyone who's taken the time to read this fic, everyone who's gone out of their way to leave feedback, everyone who has motivated and inspired me to go on in writing this story, and everyone else. this has been a blast to write, and everything that everyone's left on this really really means a lot to me.
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> 'til my next fic/au! <3


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